


Elven Glory

by Lafaiette



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Erections, Light Angst, Love, Sexual Tension, Smut, Various problems concerning Solas' dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After millennia of existence, he supposes it’s only natural that his manhood decides to stop working once in a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The majority of the fandom sees Solas as this expert, sensual, super talented-in-bed guy whose sexual perfomances are extraordinary and infallible.
> 
> However, he is a _very_ old man - probably 10,000 years old or so - and I can’t believe he never had any problems in bed during his time in the Inquisition.
> 
> So I decided to write a series of short vignettes to show those times when Solas’ dick really didn’t want to cooperate (or cooperated in the wrong way). ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

It happens suddenly, as these things usually happen. They are in their tent, shielded from the humidity that lingers in the Emerald Graves at night, warm and cozy under their woolen blankets, inside the bedroll they share.

His hands roam the soft, yet firm and slightly scarred expanses of skin on her back, touching the muscles and the knots there, caused by all the tension she accumulated in the past days. The Emerald Graves are astounding, but there is sadness in the timid light that shines through the foliage, death in the rich, florid ground, a lost legacy in the elven ruins surrounded by statues of the Chantry.

And so he massages her shoulders, gently pulls her arms and makes her stretch her legs, while kissing her forehead and nose and smiling as her hands slip under his shirt. They removed the major parts of their armor to rest better and she caresses his hot skin, rubs her right hand on his side and moves it slower to touch his hipbone.

He laughs into her hair as she drapes her leg over his waist and giggles. The Inquisition scouts and their companions - Varric and Cole - are sleeping; they can hear the dwarf snore and the boy…

Well, Solas suggested him to sleep even though he is a spirit, because his body is still physical and it might get tired and weary eventually. But even if he isn’t walking through the Fade in this moment, they know he won’t mind knowing they are making love. They will try to be quiet anyway.

So they toss away the last pieces of their armor with muffled laughter and giggles and soon Solas’ hand is pressed on her wet womanhood and he is sucking her lips, listening to her happy, little sounds of pleasure with a smile.

She gasps into his mouth when he slips the first digit in and heat blossoms in his groin, a persistent urge to sheathe himself into her and take her here, surrounded by the bittersweet peace of the forest and the green pillows of moss.

She senses this and pulls him on top of herself, smiling at him and moving her hand down to touch his length and help him enter inside her.

He begins to kiss her neck, two fingers playing with her nipple, his other hand still teasing her womanhood; he feels her hand between his legs, but then she stops.

He hums and looks up, one eyebrow and a corner of his mouth raised.

“ _Vhenan_?” he breathes out and sees her frown.

He frowns too and asks worriedly, immediately pulling his fingers out, fearing he is hurting her: “ _Ma vhenan_? What is wrong?”

“It’s…” she is still looking down at her hand between his legs and her face expresses a mix between confusion and bewilderment. He looks down as well, wondering with horror if the dirt of the Emerald Graves somehow got into his pants and breeches and soiled his skin too.

But then he _sees_ what surprised her so much. His manhood, which should be hard and turgid by now, is hanging limply and flaccid between his legs, as if they haven’t been spending the past several minutes kissing and touching each other.

He feels the arousal thrum into his veins and head like a drum, scorching like liquid fire, but his length clearly doesn’t care and isn’t affected by it.

“I…” he croaks out, a burning blush tinting his cheeks and ears with red and pink hues. “I do not understand.”

Well, he _does_ suspect a reason for this incredibly awkward situation, but his pride - and he would laugh at the irony if he wasn’t feeling so ashamed - prevents him from even thinking about it clearly.

Scarlet doesn’t understand either: she knows more things about sex now, but not that many and there is still much that she doesn’t know about the most delicate and particular details of sexual intercourses and bodily reactions.

So she is ashamed as he is, because she thinks it’s _her_ fault, that she wasn’t able to arouse him, that he doesn’t find her attractive anymore. She timidly, almost instinctively, covers her chest with a corner of the blanket and looks at him with alarm and sadness.

He feels wretched and curses at himself.

But he especially curses at his stupid dick.

“ _Emma lath_!” he exclaims, cradling her face with his long - and still wet - fingers. He kisses her lips one, two, three, four times, quick, urgent pecks that convey how sorry he is and how much he wants to reassure her.

“It is not your fault.” he continues, staring into her golden eyes, thumbs stroking her cheeks right below her _vallaslin_. “Scarlet, it is not your fault.”

“Maybe I touched it too much?” she murmurs, then her eyes widen. “Too little? Should I…”

“No, my love.” he says fondly, then forces himself to admit what really happened, despite his tremendous embarrassment and hurt pride. He still can’t believe it. “It is related to my body. Sometimes, during times of physical weakness or stress, one’s manhood can… refuse to cooperate.”

He clears his throat and avoids her eyes, even when she lets out a surprised ‘oh!’.

“Solas, are you tired?” she asks, immediately worried. She sighs and cups his cheek with her hand, adding softly: “I know these are hard times, _vhenan_.”

“Not so _hard_ , apparently.” he grumbles, but still manages to crack a smile when Scarlet giggles and kisses him.

“In any case, we need more rest. And if you feel particularly distressed these days, then…”

“I do not.” he says with confidence and is surprised to discover that he really doesn’t, that despite Corypheus’ threat and his need to reclaim the Orb, he is living these years with warmth in his heart, as if time is slowed again and his journeys with Scarlet are going to be endless and eternal, a limbo of hope.

She gives him a pointed look and a lopsided smile and he clears his throat again, his blush redder than before.

“This situation… can also be caused by someone’s old age.”

After millennia of existence, he supposes it’s only natural that his manhood decides to stop _working_ once in a while. Still, this is _mortifying_ and he glares down at his length with badly concealed fury.

Scarlet starts giggling, a hand muffling her loud laughter, and he stares at her with a small, but stubborn pout.

She hides her face behind her hands, then rolls slightly to her side to snort and cackle into the bedroll; he keeps watching her in silence, patiently waiting for her to finish.

When she turns back to him, her cheeks are all red and there are tears of mirth shimmering in her eyes.

“Sorry!” she gasps, then splutters and another fit of giggles begins. He sighs and moves to lie down beside her, but she stops him and presses their bodies hard against each other.

“Sorry.” she repeats, quieter this time, her smile sweet and bright, loving and reassuring. “It’s alright, Solas. Don’t worry about it!”

A big part of his shame steadily melts away and he smiles back at her, finding comfort in her understanding and touch. She starts peppering his face with kisses, while murmuring endearments, and he relaxes, his hand going back between her legs to bring her to her climax.

“I would see you come, _vhenan_. We should not stop just because I…”

But she gently takes his hand and brings it back to her chest, shaking her head, her smile bigger. He blinks, puzzled.

“I don’t want to come without you.”

“ _Vhenan_.” he chides her with a fond chuckle, but she insists and pulls him down on the bedroll, covering them both with the blankets and cuddling him.

“We can do it in the Fade.” she continues, then blushes and asks, eyes wide again: “Will… will it be alright there?”

He grins and pulls her closer, their naked bodies slick with sweat and humidity. He can shape the Fade and transform their shared dreams in beautiful landscapes, quiet clearings, and marvelous sunlit fields. He can dress her with rich clothes in the style of ancient Arlathan, make flowers blossom where she walks, make glowing orbs of light follow her to illuminate her steps.

He can make love to her in the way she most prefer, devouring her for hours without end, making her come without pause and fatigue. Their bodies are as soft and thin as light there; they are not tied to the heavy rules of the Veiled world.

But for the first time in his long life, he starts doubting the _quality_ of the feelings and sensations one can experience in the Fade; after making love with Scarlet in the waking world, after tasting her there and feeling her dainty, calloused hands on his body, the rough texture of the blankets they travel with, the smoothness of her sheets on his skin, the ethereal, almost _too perfect_ sensations of the Fade feel much different.

They feel less… real.

Again, he would laugh if this wasn’t so serious.

Also, no matter how many times they come in their dreams - and his manhood _does_ rise there -, their bodies don’t reach their orgasm in the waking world. They are left craving, wet in Scarlet’s case and hard in Solas’. That’s why they prefer doing it in the Veiled world, whenever it’s possible.

Today is different, at least for him. They both wake up panting, their chests heaving, sweat running down their temples and between their legs.

He can feel the sheer arousal beat into him like a second heart, the instinct to slip, trust, and spend his semen inside her… but his body just doesn’t want to work right and so he is left with that insufferable frustration, while Scarlet discreetly dries and cleans herself and wears a new pair of smalls.

He glares down at his reactionless manhood, still flaccid, still down even after that beautiful, _intense_ dream of love-making. Scarlet is cheerful and reassures him with another kiss and is not bothered by it. She giggles as he groans and gets up to put his armor back on; her next kiss is gentle and tender like her heart, but there is no pity in it, only reassurance and love and his shame goes away once again.

“You know I love your older age.” she whispers against his lips, smiling at him, and he chuckles, the sound ending in a snort like it often happens, a different kind of blush - this time flattered - coloring his cheeks.

They step outside their tents, fingers entwined; one last, affectionate tug and then they pull away, although begrudgingly, ready to start a new day and a new mission. Chateau D’Onterre is their next destination, one they apparently need to be prepared for, considering the odd and not very reassuring rumors about it.

Varric and Cole are awake and waiting for them; the dwarf winks at them from his seat in front of the fire, Bianca resting on his lap as he prepares the first arrow of the day.

“Good morning, Inquisitor, Solas.” he says with a smile. “Did you guys sleep well?”

Solas wonders for a horrifying second if he knows what happened last night… then discards the thought, since that would be impossible.

But then Cole speaks before he or Scarlet can answer and all he wants to do is rot into the nearest cave or hole.

“Shame, a great embarrassment fills his heart. Why did it happen? He is not so old, is he? He thinks of solutions, healing spells to tell his body to work again.”

“Kid, what are you talking about now?” Varric asks, grunting as he pulls the oiled arrow into his beloved crossbow to load it. Solas and Scarlet are frozen on the spot, unable to interrupt Cole. They just can stare at him, pale as the white rocks on the ground.

The spirit boy tilts his head, focuses, and continues slowly: “Pleasure flows through him without difficulty, but the throbbing doesn’t reach down there. She deserves to feel good, she deserves to reach her bliss. He feels so, so mortified. Why doesn’t it rise?”

Realization shines in Varric’s eyes and he splutters.

“ _Maker’s balls!_ ”

He turns to stop Cole before he can continue, but his hand accidentally hits the crossbow, which is pointed at the sky, and the arrow flies high with a sharp hiss.

A cry, followed by a thud after a few seconds.

The four companions stare at the poor bird killed by Varric’s shot and Cole lets out a tiny, horrified gasp.

For a long moment, only one thought crosses Solas’ mind: he wishes he could have _unloaded_ a shot like that last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at the [beautiful comic](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/post/139938096093/elven-glory-1-4-nsfw) that [trashwarden](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/) made for this first scene! ( ´ ▽ ` )


	2. Chapter 2

They spend the rest of the week in the Emerald Graves, exploring the parts of it they didn’t have the time to see before, fighting the last Freemen, and ensuring no Red Templar can bother Fairbanks’ soldiers.

The days are filled with battles, exploration, and herbs collected among the tall, towering trees. The nights are spent in the Inquisition camps, under the comfortable tents. Fortunately no witty comments come from Varric, although he doesn’t hide well his smirks whenever it’s time to go to bed.

Solas’ _problem_ hasn’t gone away and although he has tried to use a great number of healing spells and magic to get rid of it, it seems it has no intention of letting him spend a good night of pleasure with his _vhenan_.

He talked with Cole privately and told him not to bring it up during casual conversations. The boy accepted without problems despite his curiosity, apologizing for having embarrassed him.

“Are you ill?” he asked and Solas reassured him that he is fine, that he just needs rest.

 _‘Can old age be considered an illness?’_ he wonders at night, imagining the lewdest scenes his mind can conjure, all starring Scarlet and himself of course. He feels disgusting, but if that can help his dick finally rise again, he is willing to read even the worst Orlesian smutty novels to fuel his imagination.

Sadly, it doesn’t work.

First, as he thinks about what he would like to do to make Scarlet feel good, pleasure grows and builds into him; so he starts kissing her neck and face - making sure she doesn’t mind, of course -, then he lets his hands go down, between her thighs and on her breasts.

At this point, they are both panting, ready to take their clothes off and begin; she is lively and young, bursting with energy and enveloping him in her tight, warm, perfumed embrace.

He whispers endearments and dirty things in her ear, making her moan and whine, and he can feel the familiar tug of arousal near his groin, insistent and _real_.

What isn’t real is his erection. It just isn’t there and his dick always stays down. Nothing awakens it from its deep slumber and for the first half of the week, Solas snarls and glares at it, cursing in Elven as he uses all the spells he can think of on it.

But there is no spell to cure old age in this Veiled world and he is left frustrated, sighing deeply into his hands covering his face, embarrassed like never before.

“ _Vhenan_.” Scarlet says softly one night, after he has spent the last hour trying to lift his manhood with weak lightning spells, a way to finally bring life into that _useless, flaccid, stupid_ …

“Please stop! Don’t hurt yourself!” she begs, pulling his hand away. Solas shoots her a heated look, cheeks red because of the exertion and shame.

“It is not painful.” he murmurs weakly and she sighs, resting her head on his shoulder, hand on his chest, right above his heart.

“Solas.” she calls as he keeps touching himself down there. “ _Solas_.”

He makes a defeated, petulant sound and moves away his hands, resting one on Scarlet’s and glaring at the tent above their heads.

They are both naked and their skin is damp, but not slick; sweat dried on it and now they are kind of sticky, but they don’t mind it.

“I am sorry.” he says somberly. “It seems this is more serious than I thought.”

She kisses his chest, a sweet gesture that makes warmth bloom on that spot and his heart.

“I am sure it will get better.”

She kisses his chin too and he looks down at her. Her eyes are worried, but she is smiling reassuringly, wishing to give him all the comfort she can. She is like that, always fretting over people and never worrying about herself.

He feels terrible and groans, looking back up at the heavy, brown cloth shielding them from the chilly night air.

“Don’t think about it for a while! Let your body rest. That’s probably the cause - tiredness.” She traces the freckles on his shoulder, her calloused fingertips tickling his skin. “Once back at Skyhold, we are going to do a lot of relaxing stuff. Reading, painting, sleeping…”

“We already do that almost every day.” he says, frowning. “And my manhood worked perfectly before.”

“I know, but these days have been particularly stressful and you always work a lot, even when we are at Skyhold.” she replies patiently. “And if you keep pestering it, it will never get better!”

He sighs and closes his eyes. Perhaps she is right - his old age might be the main reason, but these missions aren’t easy; his body is frail and easily influenced by external elements in this Veiled reality.

He looks at her sadly, one arm now wrapped around her waist.

“I am sorry.” he repeats. “I can’t even give you this.”

She blinks, confused, then sits up abruptly, a frown shifting her delicate face, rage in her eyes. The sight is frightening: she rarely gets mad and she never gets mad _at him_.

“Solas!” she exclaims, seemingly unaware of her bare chest, and he sits up too, alarmed and anxious. “Do you really think I care about that?”

“W-What?” he babbles and the most logical part of his mind notices how they are both sitting and staring at each other completely naked.

He feels a bit self-conscious: he might be in good shape, with firm muscles, but his body is the body of a middle-aged man and after the disappointing and mortifying failures of this week, he isn’t that proud of it anymore.

The more cheerful, emotional part of his mind makes his eyes move down to her small breasts and makes him notice how beautiful she is even when angry.

He forces both of those parts to try to understand what the problem is, what he said that upset her so much: it’s true he can’t even give her the pleasure of sex now.

It’s not like he could give her much before in the first place: even though he is Fen’Harel, he does own nothing. He truly is a wanderer, a hobo with no land, no wealth, no family to introduce her to.

He has a group of agents and spies and a plan to reshape her world which will probably kill it. Does that count?

 _‘It probably doesn’t.’_ the bitter part of himself says, although the selfish part of him loves to imagine her in the new world he has to create, safe and immortal, bonded with him for all eternity.

He is still nobody, though; his title never brought him anything good anyway and now he doesn’t even have a well working manhood to give her pleasure with anymore.

She is still frowning, a small fury burning in her golden eyes, and he slowly understands. She doesn’t care about that. She doesn’t love him because of his sexual performances (which he considers decent… they are decent, are they not?).

She tells him so, folding her arms, her eyes still burning.

“Solas, I am not worried about your manhood because we can’t have sex! I am worried because your body is clearly exhausted and you are not taking care of yourself!” She sighs and moves on her knees to face him better. “ _Ma vhenan_ , do you really think I will stop loving you because of this?”

Her eyes are sad now and he curses himself. He sheepishly takes her hands and strokes her long, delicate, calloused fingers with his own, much larger and rougher.

“ _Ir abelas, vhenan_. I did not mean to sadden you.”

She smiles at him and he smiles back, sighing relieved. She scoots closer to him and he pulls her into a tight embrace, pressing his lips on her cheek. Her hands caress his bald scalp and his broad shoulders, making him hum happily.

“This is what we will do!” she starts, taking his face in her hands and squeezing playfully his cheeks. He thinks it’s not a very dignifying sight, but she loves to do it and kiss him like that; plus she is smiling at him so brightly the last thing he wants is to pull away.

So he stays like that, cheeks squished and lips pursed, hands on her narrow waist as she kisses his face and continues cheerfully: “We will relax and rest whenever we can. I will prepare you my mother’s soup - it’s very healthy and nutritious and I am sure the kitchen staff won’t mind if I do it myself.”

She presses her mouth on his nose and he manages to smile, despite her hands on his face; she lists more things to do together, things they already do every day, those domestic activities that always put contentment and joy in their hearts. She wants to improve them, though, and says that at least twice a week they should just lie in bed and do absolutely nothing. She will warn the Advisors, telling them about their need to rest.

“What about our duties?” he splutters, rising an eyebrow with an amused, crooked, and lopsided smile.

“Just twice a week! We will find some time to do nothing at all, right? And with nothing at all, I mean sleeping and exploring the Fade _all day_.” She grins and he chuckles, the sound coming out a bit oddly due to the gentle pressure on his face.

That sounds… extremely pleasant. They already did that before - maybe not for the whole day, but still -, but they will follow a schedule this time, a sort of plan to regain physical and mental energies. He could teach her meditation, show her the best memories of the Fade, the most beautiful landscapes recreated by his spirit friends…

He could show her Arlathan, glimpses of it at least, and build a house for them in the Fade: a fantasy, but also a deep, strong wish that he cannot stop thinking about, a wish that would imply telling her the truth.

 _‘Would that be that bad?’_ the hopeful part of him thinks.

He jumps out of his reverie when she smooches his lips, a loud kiss that the guards patrolling the far borders of the camp probably heard. He chuckles, her sweetness and innocence endearing, then stays patiently still as she observes him.

She starts giggling. “You are so cute.”

“I highly doubt it.” he snorts, but then she laughs and hugs him, her lithe body and small breasts pressed against him. The deep arousal bottled up inside him awakens again and asks desperately for an outlet.

Which his body doesn’t give it.

But he can give release to _her_ , so he insists like he did the previous nights, although he suspects she won’t want to do it.

“ _Vhenan_.” he whispers, brushing his mouth against her long ear. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

He moves one hand between her legs and hears her surprised intake of breath; he licks her neck and she whimpers, rocking gently against his touch.

But then she slowly pulls away and he lets her, immediately drawing his hand away. Her eyes shine in the darkness like two suns.

“Not now.” she says, her voice soft and a bit timid. “Not when you can’t come.”

He expected that, she said the same thing the previous times too, so he offers with a sultry smirk, knowing what her answer will be: “In the Fade then?”

But she surprises him. Even though they ended up doing it in the Fade the nights before, this time she shakes her head and replies: “We are always left unsated and frustrated. It is not relaxing at all and the last thing you need now is feeling even more unsatisfied.”

“ _Vhenan_.” he sighs, reaching out for her hand again. He doesn’t want her to sacrifice her pleasure for him. It’s unfair and he curses at his dick for the umpteenth time. “Let me make you come here.”

But she is stubborn and cares only about his wellbeing: she smiles at him, shakes her head again, then gets up and starts to put some of her clothes on. Solas instinctively groans and falls back onto their bedroll.

“No sex of any kind for a while! Let’s not even bring it up!” she says with a sweet laughter, sitting back at his side. She is wearing the pants and undershirt of the armor and Solas looks at the pieces of clothing with sad, big eyes.

“I could make you come in so many ways, _emma lath_.” he murmurs, ashamed by this whole situation.

He doesn’t consider sex to be _that_ important, but he loves making her feel good; he loves to ease and soothe her anxiety and the tension on her shoulders with the raw, _real_ , sweet physicality of their bodies.

Now that he suddenly can’t have that anymore, he feels bad. Funny - but not really - that he of all people wants this so much now. To touch and be touched, to see all her worries and fears melt away under his loving caresses, to be awake - always - in the waking world to feel her breath on his skin.

That was what their sex was about: _making love_ , pure and bright, where every moment was dedicated to the other, where every kiss carried messages of adoration and respect, where every moans and giggle expressed joy.

He doesn’t know how long this… situation will last. Is it just old age mixed with some stress that influenced his subconscious? Or is it something more, a real illness typical of this world?

He doesn’t know and he has no intention of going to the healer: the last thing he needs is rumors about his body or being told that he is indeed ill.

However, no matter the amount of time he will have to spend like this, he is going to miss those bodily and spiritual unions he had with Scarlet. That act of love, of becoming one together.

He gives her a deep, languid kiss - opening her mouth, touching her tongue with his, sucking her lips -, then pulls away with a sigh and retrieves his sweater, breeches, and pants.

“It will get better, Solas.” she repeats softly when he is back on the bedroll, cuddling her. It’s a promise and he starts to believe it.

She puts three fingers under his jaw and gently moves his head to look at him; her thumb strokes the cleft on his chin and she smiles.

He always melts when she smiles at him like that.

With a chuckle, he tries to relax and squeezes her waist before asking her what she would like to see in the Fade.

 

\- - - - 

 

The rest of the week proceeds well: despite the fights they encounter along the way, the days pass smoothly and their nights are as beautiful as before.

They make love with words, with chaste touches and kisses, with jokes and stories, with lovestruck gazes and trips in the Fade.

His good mood returns and he begins to think positively about the future: hope for the improvement of his condition returns and he is surprised to find himself worrying about that and not his Orb still in a mad magister’s hands.

He also worries about Satinalia, which is approaching, and the gifts he wants to give Scarlet. He worries about her armor, which is dented and needs to be improved. He worries about Cole’s new spirit nature, about Varric’s elbow, which received a bad hit during the last battle and is healing slowly.

He worries about the researches he is completing at Skyhold, his frescoes, the theories he need to discuss with Dorian and Vivienne - possibly without arguing too much -, the round of Wicked Grace Blackwall challenged him to.

He worries about simple, genuine things and it’s like time has stopped again.

He spends their meals around the fire watching Scarlet and etching her smiles and expressions into his memory and his leather journal.

Varric compliments his charcoal and ink drawings and one evening they spend some time talking about Kirkwall and putting it on paper. The dwarf gets nearly emotional talking about his city and Solas tears out the page filled with sketches of the Hanged Man and gives it to him.

“I’m gonna put this above my bed, so I’ll see it every morning after opening my eyes.” Varric chuckles, deep gratefulness in his rough, deep voice.

“You miss it a lot.” Solas comments, smoothing the wrinkled pages, and the dwarf hums an affirmative sound, gently folding the piece of paper and slipping it into his pocket.

“Kirkwall is my home. Although I’m getting used to the Inquisition, to be honest.” He turns to him and Solas instinctively tenses up, knowing what it’s coming.

“And you, Chuckles? What about your home?”

He stays quiet, looking down at the journal on his lap; now that the page with the drawings of Kirkwall isn’t there anymore, he can see the previous pieces he made. Scarlet’s portraits, Scarlet’s smiles, Scarlet’s eyes, ears, and lips, Scarlet reading, Scarlet sleeping, Scarlet laughing.

Varric sees them too, then follows his gaze, which moved from the journal to her.

“Ah, I see.” he laughs with warm affection. Solas’ ears burn, but his smile is broad and happy.

Scarlet is fixing a hole on Cole’s jacket, grinning and showing him how it’s done. There are dimples on her cheeks and stars in her eyes.

That night, in the comfort and familiarity of their tent, he holds her tightly and that hopeful part of his mind starts insisting about telling her the truth.

This time he listens to it intently and finds its reasons and points to be convincing.

The days spent in the Emerald Graves have been odd, as if suspended in time, but he reaches the end of them with relatively small frustration, his worries about his dormant manhood not as bad as before. Scarlet’s idea worked and she looks happy and hopeful too.

However, he still possesses part of that frustration, of that rage directed at his stupid body and at whatever inane mechanism that developed inside it. It enhances his protectiveness towards Scarlet.

Before they leave the Dales, a Red Templar has the courage to attack her directly, both with his blade and his vulgar words.

Solas intervenes before she can: in a second, he is at her side and stops the Templar not with his magic, not with his staff, but with a hard punch right in the face.

The man collapses on the ground like a sack of potatoes and a weird silence falls, his _vhenan_ and their companions frozen and staring at him. Scarlet and Cole still have their daggers ready, Varric’s crossbow is still pointed at where the Red Templar was standing.

In the end, Cole is the first one to speak, an innocent whisper carried by the humid air of the forest:

“Your hand hurts.”

It does. It does a lot. That night, Scarlet applies a soothing balm - and many, many kisses - on it and he can’t move it well for the rest of their trip back to Skyhold.

Kind of like his dick.

 

\- - - -

 

Surprisingly - _miraculously_ \- things change the same day they arrive at the fortress.

After receiving the soldiers, merchants, and guests’ welcome in the courtyard, they head to the main hall, exhausted, dirty, and - in Solas’ case - somewhat still grumpy.

Josephine is waiting for them, board and quill ready in her hands, and informs the Inquisitor that there are some important messages Leliana wants her to read.

“Of course they can wait until you are fully rested, my lady.” she smiles kindly, but Scarlet is a good leader and even though her eyes are tired and she is slightly limping, she says she will go see them immediately.

Josephine shares more information and news about their alliances and next missions, then she goes back to her room and Scarlet follows Solas into the rotunda, her fingers entwined with his.

He rests his staff against the desk and makes sure Sera and Dorian touched nothing while he was away; everything seems in order and he prepares the books he wanted to show Scarlet to bring them up in her… their quarters.

“Don’t take too long, my heart.” he says with a tender smile, cradling her sweet face in his hands.

His fingers are dirty with grass and he leaves a brown streak of soil on her cheek. He tries to clean it with the sleeve of his sweater, but that isn’t that clean either and now there is a large brown stain on her face.

“I…” he babbles, panicking for a moment, then sighs. “I am sorry.”

But she laughs, joyous and in love - in love _with him_ , the incredulous part of him thinks - and throws her arms around his neck, kissing him enthusiastically.

And then, right as he moves one hand on her hair and the other on the small of her back, right as she presses her body against his, his length comes to life and pushes painfully against his breeches and pants.

They both gasp and look down at the well visible bump.

“Solas.”

“Yes?”

She frowns, confused, and tilts her head.

“I don’t understand. I didn’t even touch it!”

He swallows and finally his unvented euphoria erupts; she holds her breath when she sees the intense way he is staring at her, then her cheeks get red and she smiles timidly at him.

“ _Vhenan_.” he whispers, attempting to hold back his grin. He fails. “Please, take the books.”

She does so and as soon as they are in her hands, he sweeps her into his arms and walks out of the rotunda with long, fast strides.

“Solas!” she whispers alarmed. “They… they will see it!”

“Maybe. Perhaps. Who cares?” He nearly elbows an Orlesian noble out of the way. “They know about us anyway.”

She rubs her face against his shoulder, laughing and giggling, as he dodges the guests and nobles and shouts: “Move, move! The Inquisitor needs medical help!”

But his grin is so big and bright and she is laughing so much nobody believes them and a crowd of curious people stops to observe them walk through the hall and reach the door to the quarters.

Some of those standing in front of them glance down and horrified Orlesian gasps, amused Fereldan guffaws, and admiring servants and soldiers’ whispers echo in the vast room.

Once they are in their quarters, he gently lays her down on the bed, both not minding about the soil and dirt they are spreading on the sheets, and starts to remove his pants, without haste, wishing to focus entirely on her and enjoy this moment.

But when his pants and breeches finally drop on the ground, his erection is gone.

He is not even shocked, at this point. He looks at Scarlet with the eyes of a sad puppy, but sees no disappointment on her face. Only understanding, which he - and his cursed penis - don’t deserve.

“Oh, Solas, _vhenan_!” she says fondly and he groans, falling face first into the mattress. He feels her hand caress his back and nape and slightly moves his head to look at her again.

She is smiling, tenderness in her eyes, and he sighs, lifting one hand to take hers.

“This is a good sign.” she says. “It means it’s starting to get better. Perhaps the air of the Emerald Graves had something to do with it…?”

“You mean all that death, Red Templars, and Orlesian villas built on Elven ground killed my manhood?” He thinks about it for a moment, then grunts. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

She starts laughing and he does too, his initial rage and disappointment melting away. She falls next to him and he drapes an arm over her, his hand caressing her knotted hair, hers stroking his cheek.

He feels at home.

“One step at a time.” she says softly and he smiles.

“One step at a time.” he agrees, kissing her, then they get up and start preparing a hot, relaxing bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Solas ever catch a break? Well, he is taking one now, I guess. HAH.
> 
> (Don't worry, it will get better. Maybe.)
> 
> Look at the [beautiful comic](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/post/139938096093/elven-glory-1-4-nsfw) that [trashwarden](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/) made for the first scene! ( ´ ▽ ` )


	3. Chapter 3

Days pass without much trouble. Nobles and guests come and go, judgements are made, tracks to locate Corypheus’ men are carefully followed, researches are elaborated.

Now that things at Adamant and in Orlais are somewhat calm and order has been restored, the Inquisition is slowly organizing to find out where Corypheus will strike next.

There are still many ambassadors and dignitaries to meet, though, and the agents and soldiers of the organization can take care of a great number of minor missions without the Inquisitor’s intervention.

So she and her companions stay inside the solid walls, planning and preparing, but also getting some much deserved respite. It’s like the air itself brings the feeling of a new, important discovery that awaits them; there will be a huge change in the future, but they don’t know what it is yet, so everybody tries to relax while it’s still possible.

Solas does the same, although not as easily as he would like to.

He continues his studies, but in a distracted way, without putting real effort into them. His frescoes are complete - only two panels remain, but he can’t start without a new idea or inspiration first.

He realizes that he has not been completely honest with himself in the past weeks - and that doesn’t even surprise him. At this point, he is omitting everything even from himself, in a clear intent to preserve his mental sanity and find some peace for once in his life.

While it’s true that the thought of the Orb and his plans has been pushed away through the past years, the most important matter related to that has not.

The matter of the truth and his growing desire to tell Scarlet about it.

It’s been a persistent and nagging thought, like a woodpecker incessantly hitting the back of his mind, similar to the ones he used to see in his youth, colorful and majestic.

And now that he can feel how near to the end they are - he can feel it in his bones, in his very soul, whispered by that logical part of himself that tells him Corypheus is going to be cornered soon -, he won’t be able to avoid facing that problem anymore.

The Orb awaits him and then…

 _‘Things would be different if you told her the truth.’_ the hopeful, lovestruck part of him whispers and it does so almost every day now.

 _‘How different?’_ he wonders. A bad kind of different, with refusal and hatred and broken hearts? A _good_ kind of different, with a solution found together and hope for the future?

He tries to relax, he really does, but this enormous, fast-approaching worry added to his _physical_ problem makes it _hard_.

And he is not referring to his dick, unfortunately.

The days and nights he has spent with Scarlet after the trip in the Emerald Graves have been good, without further embarrassment. He followed her advice and didn’t attempt to give some life back to his depressed manhood, reading and painting in her - _their_ \- rooms instead and spending lovely, joyous times with her.

Those moments, though, increased his anxiety and his wish to tell her everything and now a serious, _giant_ doubt haunts him: does his ailment have a psychological cause? Is his inner turmoil the reason his body can’t react to arousal and stimulus anymore?

He has no idea - there were no such things in Elvhenan and if old age is indeed the cause as he initially thought, then there is nothing he can do about it.

However, he can still try one last thing (apart from going to the healer, an idea he stubbornly refuses): searching for answers in the library, possibly when no one is there to notice what he is reading.

He decides to go look for the books he needs at night; hopefully, less people will be around at those hours - even Dorian, who doesn’t seem to spend as much time on his papers as before - and he will be able to find what he needs without embarrassing interruptions.

He doesn’t tell Scarlet about his idea, not wanting to make her worry. He will do this alone, like he is used to, in order to always see her smile and avoid her any heavy concern.

If he is right and the cause is truly psychological, related to the fears swirling in his mind, then he will find the remedy for it without causing her any problem.

If he is not and his old body is reacting to the heaviness and the conspicuous lack of magic of this world, then…

He feels miserable at the mere thought of it.

He chooses a quiet evening to start his research: he is still in their quarters, sitting with her in front of the fireplace. She is replying to some letters, he is reading a large book that despite its original contents can’t catch his attention for more than two minutes.

Scarlet’s smile and the curve of her neck are way more interesting.

He is sitting right behind her, her back pressed flush against his chest as she writes bare-footed on the furs they lay down near the fireplace every time they want to relax there.

He watches her nibble at the quill, her fingertips stained with ink, her hand tapping on the small book she uses as a board to write better on. She writes down some words, scratching them out without thinking twice about it since this is only the first draft, then stops to think about her answer again.

He pretends to be reading to observe her in tranquility; he knows she would get flustered and timid if she knew he is watching her.

His lips curl into a smile as she huffs and draws random figures, flowers, and scribbles on the paper; she scratches her cheek with the feather of her quill, which is wet with ink as well, so there is a black streak on her skin now too.

He chuckles, kissing her neck, and she gasps, abruptly turning to him with wide eyes and a deep blush.

Then she groans and frowns at the letter she has to reply to and her draft, filled with cute drawings and faces.

“I hate writing to nobles.” she mumbles and Solas chuckles again, gently moving her on his lap so he can see her face better.

“Wait, _vhenan_.” he smiles, then licks his thumb and rubs it on her cheek. The ink fades away, but not completely, and it’s smeared up to her _vallaslin_ now. He sighs.

“Apparently I can’t deal with this kind of things.” he says wryly, but grins when she laughs and wraps her arms around his neck.

“I think it’s cute.” She clears her voice and announces loudly, as if she is a messenger shouting the last news: “Wise and cultured apostate has trouble cleaning stains of dirt and ink! The Inquisitor promises to teach him some tricks.”

“Hush.” Solas chuckles, pinching her side and making her squeal and laugh. “Let me use my magic.”

She closes her eyes, smiling and waiting, lips slightly pursed because she wants a kiss too - which he immediately gives to her.

Something stirs in him at the sight of her like that: the red lines of her _vallaslin_ are vivid and bold against her pale skin and his words sound and even _taste_ like something else to him: they call a spell that he hasn’t used for millennia out of the deepest corners of his mind.

With a single gesture, he could give her the freedom she deserves, the liberation from those cruel marks that he saw burned on children’s skin, on old servants’ faces, on ill people’s jaws in his youth.

With a single gesture, he could tell her the truth. Would she understand? Would she listen to him?

If everything goes well, they could walk on a new path together.

But there is also trust on her face, complete respect, and he cannot shock - _betray_ \- her like this. He needs to find another way to tell her what burns so intensely in his heart. He wants to be worthy of her trust.

He has to tell her. He just has to find the right moment. But when is that? How can he find the words? Do they even exist, the right ones to convey what he feels for her, what he has done, what he has to do?

What he _wants_ to do instead?

“Solas…?” she asks softly, raising her eyebrows, but without opening her golden eyes.

He gently traces the stain on her cheek with his fingertips and uses a simple water spell, watching the black ink go away. She opens her eyes then and her smile broadens.

“Better?” she asks and he cups her face, rests his forehead against hers, and replies in a whisper, his smile kind and sincere: “Beautiful, as always.”

She snorts, dimples on her cheeks, and kisses his nose, then hides her face on his shoulder and nuzzles his neck.

“Sweet talker.”

And he feels it again, the strong tug of arousal and passion, fueled by the love he has for her and for her only.

Something changes: it’s like a light has been lit and it has modified the whole mood, forms, and shadows in the room.

He moves slowly, with strong dedication and attention, focusing on her and letting nothing distract him from her face, smile, and touch.

He moves her away from his shoulder to be able to look at her again, then kisses her and hears her gasp and moan as his tongue enters her mouth; one of his hands cups her breast, the other plays with her hair and she melts in his arms, clinging onto him and returning his kiss with all her youthful enthusiasm.

He unclasps her shirt and catches a glimpse of her breastband underneath it: brown, with flowers and delicate motifs she embroidered on it herself. He chuckles and unbuttons her pants too, knowing her smalls will be decorated like that just the same.

“Solas…” Scarlet moans when he slips his fingers under the hem of them. His thumb touches the apples she sewed with colored threads right on the edge and her blush deepens.

“These are old.” she mumbles, embarrassed, and he laughs, pushing her on the furs and covering her with his body, his hand still fondling her womanhood with teasing caresses.

“ _Vhenan_ , I love everything about you.” he says tenderly, rubbing his nose against her face, grinning elatedly. He can feel his erection push against his breeches and her needy, loud sounds are making his blood flow faster in his veins and head.

He helps her pull away her pants and shirt and she remains there, half-naked, dressed only with her adorable, customized breastband and smalls, red hair sprawled all over the dark furs.

She awkwardly rests her hands on her stomach and smiles at him, face glowing.

He nearly sobs at the sight.

“My love.” he whispers reverently, leaning in to touch the warm skin of her belly with his lips. “I would take you tonight, if you will have me.”

“Of course I will!” she exclaims, then chortles when he nips at her flesh, which is firm but also tender, because that’s where her womb is.

He loves kissing her there.

Her hands find his head and she tilts it up, staring at him with concern.

“Will you be alright, though?”

“I _am_ alright.” he smiles, raising an eyebrow, and looking down at where his erection is proudly pushing against the fabric of his pants.

This time, he will be able to make her feel good. He can already taste the joy, accomplishment, and relief in his mouth… figuratively, of course.

Although he loves the _literal_ taste of _her_ joy and relief too.

“I can see that.” she giggles when he finally removes his clothes and sits back on his heels, hands roaming across her body, teasing her breasts and hipbones.

She sits up too and timidly looks down at his manhood: hard and turgid, finally alive after that disastrous day following their trip to the Dales. She fidgets, then places her hands on his shoulders, still looking at his length.

He scoots closer, wrapping his arms around her waist, and waits impatiently: he can feel it’s different this time, he can feel that his erection will last, but he still doesn’t know the cause of his particular situation and everything can happen.

So he teases Scarlet, placing quick, soft kisses on her face while pressing his manhood against her belly.

But she keeps her hands on his shoulders and frowns.

“I didn’t touch it this time either, but it got up all the same.” she says, shaking her head. She starts to panic and her eyes widen. “Maybe it doesn’t like being touched anymore…?”

She whispers the last sentence, talking to herself, confused by that event that goes against her knowledge and what she learned. Solas chuckles and takes her right hand to kiss it.

“It still does. A lot.” he reassures her and she grins, reaching out for his manhood and enveloping it in her delicate, long fingers. He gasps and a strangled moan leaves his lips: it’s like being touched by liquid fire or scorching lightning and every muscle in his body screams in pleasure.

He clings to her and breathes heavily against her neck, bucking into her pumping fist, one of his hands inside her smalls again.

“Solas.” she pants, blushing harder when his fingers touch the wet lips of her womanhood and a loud squelching sound is made. “Solas, please, tell me if you want to stop! If you get tired or it starts to hurt, tell me and…”

He laughs, his other hand squeezing her butt.

“I will take you as many times as you desire, _vhenan_ , in any position or way you want.” he breathes heavily into her ear, slipping one finger into her folds and making her cry out.

She rubs her thumb on the head of his manhood and her palm spreads the precum there all over the length. He kneads her buttocks and grunts, thrusting faster into her hand: “I will take you here in front of the fire. I will - _ah!_ \- t-take you on our bed and then I will eat you, clean your pretty, lovely cunt with my tongue, drink your juices and lap your pink flesh.”

He grins, biting playfully her earlobe, and she shivers and moans happily as he inserts another finger and scissors her, rubbing her walls and letting her liquid drip down his hand.

“Do you like it when I kiss you there, _vhenan_?” he asks, his voice a hot whisper that sets her nerves on fire and makes her bite her lips and pump his erection erratically. “Do you like feeling my mouth on your beautiful quim?”

“Yes, _yes_!” She kisses him, insatiable, and moves her other hand down to his balls, timidly fondling them; he gasps, then whimpers every time her fingers squeeze his length, finally reactive, finally alive and affected by their arousal.

“I… I read a book the other day.” she starts and Solas’ grin turns wicked, because she can be referring only to one kind of book in a situation like this.

As he expected, she laughs timidly through her moans and continues quickly: “There was a… a picture, the man was taking the woman from behind, but he was covering her with his body, so they could see and kiss each other and…”

His thumb strokes her clitoris, round and springing out of its hood, and she cries out so loudly that the sound echoes in the entire room and probably reaches the stairs. Solas nuzzles her cheek, the gesture sweet and gentle while his fingers thrust into her without pause.

“I will take you from behind too then, _ma sa’lath_.” he whispers as she moves the hand on his sack back to his shoulder to lean on something and not fall on him. “I will kiss your neck and rub your belly. I will press my chest against your back and cover every inch of your beautiful face with kisses while I thrust into you. Would you like that?” He places a kiss on her jaw, a moan hiding behind every word, his length hard and thick.

She looks at him through half-lidded eyes, mouth open and lips glistening, her small breasts bouncing with every movement of his and her hands, and nods with a smile.

He smiles too, then laughs, removing his fingers from her lithe body and helping her rest down on the furs again.

She lies there, spread open, waiting for him, and his cock is still hard as he settles himself between her. Now that her hands aren’t on it anymore, he breathes more easily, but he misses her touch and his body feels strangely heavy.

He tries not to think too much about it.

“We will do many, _many_ things tonight, _vhenan_. Each for every day I wasn’t able to give you your climax.” he whispers, kissing her and muffling her tiny, impatient sounds of anticipation.

She mentioned stopping before, but stopping is the last thing he wants: he will be finally able to give her pleasure, to see her come and be relieved of the tension she accumulated in these days.

He pulls away her smalls and grips his cock to guide it better into her. Her hands are caressing his bald head and he grins at her.

They will finally share bliss with each other again and he will adore every moment of pleasure she will decide to give him, every second of this heaven he is so unworthy of. He will thank her and give her more, always more, because she deserves everything and he doesn’t deserve her, he doesn’t deserve her love, and then…

And then he comes, spurting his semen all over her belly with a loud moan.

He stares at the white droplets with horror: he never - _never_ \- came before her. Her pleasure and satisfaction are what most counts, they are above anything else, and he always put them before his own needs, because that is how it’s supposed to be, that’s what _she deserves and now he_ …

“Solas!” she beams at him, innocent and joyous, a ray of sun in the cold darkness of the room. “Solas, you came! Isn’t that great?” She laughs happily and kisses him. “Oh, _vhenan_ , it means your body is recovering!”

Then she sees his grim, dark expression and her face falls.

They sit up again and she slowly takes his hand as he looks down, ashamed and guilty.

She says softly: “This… this has not been a good thing, has it?”

“I came too early.” he murmurs. “And not even while you were touching me.”

“Well, but… you were about to go inside me! Maybe that triggered it!”

“No.” Solas shakes his head, feeling wretched and disgusting, because he reached his climax in a treacherous way and now his dick is getting soft and flaccid again and he knows it won’t rise for a long time.

“I didn’t even notice it arrive.” he adds, glaring down at his body, at its sudden betrayal. He should have expected something like this, but how could he know? Having difficulties getting an erection is one thing, coming too early and without a real, physical stimulus is another.

Could this be related to stress too? His head is light and dizzy and only filled with guilt.

“ _Ma vhenan_.” Scarlet calls, raising his head and stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. Her big, kind eyes are worried and he curses at himself, at whatever is causing his body to act like this - be it old age, illness or stress.

“Why don’t we go to a healer? Not the one here in Skyhold!” she adds when she sees his grimace. “Someone who doesn’t know us.”

He hesitates for a moment, then frowns and almost pouts.

“No.”

“Solas, this might be affecting your health too!” she tugs at his hands and he entwines his fingers with hers, giving her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“I am still able to relieve myself without problems, _ma vhenan_.”

 _‘For now._ ’ the bitter part of him tells him and he growls at it.

“Solas, please. A visit to a medic can’t hurt!” Scarlet insists, but he tuts and smooths her brow with his thumbs, like she does when he is the one being worried or grumpy.

“Please, _emma lath_ , lie down on your back and let me give you your pleasure.” He smiles innocently at her when she huffs and glares at him, but his expression gets sad again once she is resting on the furs.

“Forgive me, my love.” he says softly, leaning down to brush his lips against hers.

“Hush.” She gives him another kiss, then hugs him, fiercely and tightly, her mouth pressed on his cheek. “Everything will be alright, Solas.”

Later, after he has made her come with his mouth and they are resting in bed under heavy wools and blankets, he promises that he will look into this and won’t ignore his health.

She makes him promise, accepting his wish to do this alone for now, although he is sure she will make researches of her own.

At least he is sure she will be even more discreet than him. She always respects his dignity and desires, especially when others are involved and people might start talking.

“Swear that you won’t ignore this.” she says, a fire illuminating her eyes. “Swear that if you discover this is the prelude to something serious or bad, we will go to a healer together.”

He smiles, kisses her forehead and says to reassure her: “Your advice was right. Apart from old age…” and he pronounces those words as if they taste sour and bitter, “… the cause of this might be simple. Tiredness, both physical and psychological, as you suggested since from the beginning.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you?” she asks and when he nods, still smiling sweetly, she frowns. “You didn’t swear!”

He laughs, even though the shame and anxiety in his heart are still strong. But Scarlet is with him and her presence helps him calm down, it grounds him and lets him see things more clearly.

The fact that his cock rose and his erection lasted long enough to come - albeit too soon - is a positive sign. He doesn’t want to get his own hopes up, but he believes the roots of this _evil_ lie in his mind and mood.

As usual, he is his worst enemy.

Scarlet lifts her pinkie and he raises an eyebrow, confused. He never saw this gesture before.

“What is it?”

She smiles at him, kind and patient, and takes his hand: she closes all his fingers except for his little one and wraps her own around it, moving their hands up and down.

He observes the scene with an intrigued face, quiet.

“Pinkie promise.” she explains, her smile brighter. “If you break it, the Dread Wolf will come and bite your butt.”

After he has helped her enter the Fade - without following her, because he has to go to the library -, he stares at his hand and his little finger with an unreadable expression.

He feels _ancient_.

As he slowly gets out of bed and puts his clothes back on, he wonders if an aphrodisiac might help him… that or any kind of remedy used by men of his age.

Then he remembers that no man of his age ever used that stuff and that nothing suitable for him might even exist, since people are not supposed to be millennia old in this world.

He sighs, dread - _hah!_ \- creeping into his bones, and places a tender kiss on Scarlet’s forehead before heading down the stairs.

He turns back after realizing he forgot his belt and seizes the chance to give her another kiss.

 

\- - - -

 

As he hoped, the library is - almost - empty. The mages, agents, and researchers have gone to bed and only Dorian remains, snoring loudly on his table, surrounded by books and two empty bottles of good wine.

The rookery is quiet too, except for the crows that still make some low noises, nothing too bothersome.

Solas accurately reads the spines of the books in the section where the answer he seeks should be; he mentally thanks the librarian who catalogues the tomes so neatly and, after a few minutes, he is sitting at his desk in the rotunda with the right volume.

It’s part of a series which specializes in human and elven biology and the most common ailments and illnesses of those races: hopefully, he will be able to find what he needs there, so he begins, flipping the pages slowly until he reaches the right chapter, the one dedicated to the male genitalia.

After making sure nobody is around or looking at him from above, he starts reading and soon finds a long part of text which seems to be describing what afflicts him so, accompanied by a drawing of a penis and clear, explanatory diagrams.

He groans under his breath as he keeps reading: his short-lasting erections and his difficulty in getting one seem to be the symptoms of a dysfunction, which might be caused by various issues of the body and its organs.

He is sure he has none of those, though: even though those didn’t exist in Elvhenan, he observed the world from the Fade for ages and learned many things about such matters too. He knows his liver is healthy and his blood isn’t sick, that his mana isn’t involved in this and that he never ingested large quantities of witherstalk.

He knew since from the start that his problem could be caused by old age... and he is not surprised at all to see that on the list, together with stress, exhaustion, and performance anxiety.

So, either old age or excessive stress… or maybe both.

He finds a list of the possible cures for each and starts writing them down: he is already aware of those for the psychological aspect, but it never hurts to remind himself that he can’t keep running from his fears forever.

The remedies for old age are potions, concoctions, even unguents to rub on the manhood. He hesitates before going to the page which describes how to prepare them, feeling this is like admitting he truly is the oldest person on Thedas, but if Scarlet won’t accept the truth or if he won’t be able to tell it to her, he wants to give her the best moments he can until there is time.

He spends more than two hours writing and drawing neat, tidy diagrams, even better than those in the book. It’s still late and servants and spies are still sleeping or working in other parts of the stronghold, so he feels safe.

He moves quickly the quill on the parchment, his index finger follows the lines and words of the heavy tome, his mind works relentlessly and memorizes everything.

Eventually, he starts to feel the familiar pull of the Fade and his eyelids get heavy. He went to bed with Scarlet early in the past weeks and since they didn’t participate in any hard missions outside Skyhold, his body - even if always in shape and ready for fighting - has got lazy.

He sighs as he allows himself to enter the Fade, thinking that he is indeed an old, limping wolf.

A shrill cackle wakes him up and it’s like being in a nightmare, because even despite the haze in his mind, he recognizes that sound.

He abruptly leaves the Fade to face the one laughing hysterically behind him.

Sera, face red and split in half by her mouth full of cookies crumbs, is holding his book and notes and reading their contents out loud.

Solas’ blood freezes in his veins.

“The most common causes of erectile dysfunction! How to deal with an uncooperative penis!” the girl reads, bending over to laugh harder. “Shit, your dusty dick works that bad? Oh, you even drew it!” She tilts her head to observe his notes and makes a disappointed sound. “Meh. I could’ve drawn a better one.”

“Stop it.” he hisses, getting up and trying to snitch the pages out of her hand, in vain. Sera jumps back and retreats, her fast steps matching his own. She is quick and unpredictable and he follows her around the desk with a livid face while she keeps cackling and awakens the few people in the rotunda.

“Come back here, Sera!” he shouts, his cheeks burning. He can see some figures - a few agents of Leliana who were napping in the rookery - look down at them, then Dorian appears too.

“I thought the Inquisitor knew how to wake it up!” Sera snorts, flipping one page. She laughs again and the agents above start to mumble and mutter. “It’s because your liver works bad? Or it’s because you have problems chann… _channeling_ your mana?”

“I said stop it!”

He lunges forward, but she easily dodges him and climbs the ladder of the scaffolding he uses to paint his frescoes. She stays up there, continuing to read, as he glares at her from below: he could use his magic, but he is afraid of ruining the fresco behind her. If he tries to reach her, she will inevitably jump down and flee from him again.

“ _‘Another of the most common causes of this dysfunction is called ‘performance anxiety’, a psychological state where the affected person feels too strongly the pressure of performing well in bed.’_ ” She makes an ironic sound, flipping page again. “Yeah, I bet this isn’t your case.”

A few more agents arrive, alarmed by the loud sounds, but fortunately no guests, servants, or researchers have been woken up, their rooms too far from the rotunda.

“ _‘It is important to remember that aging is a major factor that greatly contributes to the seriousness of this dysfunction.’_ ” Sera bites his lips, then snorts, and finally howls with laughter.

“I knew it! It’s because you are so freaking _old_!”

Solas clenches his fists and jaw, glaring at her; chest heaving, he breathes heavily through his nose and she doesn’t see the furious light in his eyes, too busy examining his notes.

“Oh, _fuck_ , you even wrote down the potions to make it get up? Is it that _bad_? No elfy magic can work this time, yeah?”

He snarls and starts climbing the ladder; as he predicted, she jumps down the scaffolding without hesitation and runs to the other side of the room, sticking out her tongue at him.

“Give those back!” he roars as she focuses on his notes again, on the list of aphrodisiac food he wrote down. “Give those back _now_!”

His cheeks are burning and his heart beats too fast and hard in his chest, a heavy thing that leaves him breathless.

He can hear the agents whisper and talk, he can feel their stares on his skin. He hears Sera’s mocking, but most of all he hears their embarrassment and sympathy - silent, but conveyed through their looks and rapturous attention -, Dorian’s angry shouts directed at the girl, and all that hurts as much as her giggles and snarky comments.

This happened before, in different circumstances, because of different reasons, but the mockery, offense, and mortification are the same.

He feels like crying.

Sera gasps and her eyes widen when she finds his notes about premature ejaculation.

“This one too? You are a mess! A dusty thing, like all elven stuff!” She is laughing so much her cheeks look like two crystals of red lyrium. “The Inquisitor has to deal with this shit? So much for elven glory!”

He snaps and lunges at her with a raw noise building in his throat; he catches her arm, making her cry out in surprise and slight pain, and tears away the books and papers from her hands.

“Oi, get off, you ass!” She tries to kick him, but curses and bad words pour out of her mouth when he hits her on the head with the book.

“ _Fucking shit, man!_ ”

“And now go! Out!” he shouts, giving her a so hard shove towards the door that she nearly trips. He crouches down to collect the notes scattered on the floor, his whole body trembling with rage and shame, and glares at Sera.

“I will send spirits to bother you in your sleep if I see your face here again.”

“What is going on here?”

His lungs stop working for a moment too: Scarlet has entered the rotunda, still wearing her humble nightgown, a shawl on her shoulders. An agent is behind her, probably the one who went to warn her about the commotion.

She observes the scene with her hands on her hips, looking back and forth from Solas to Sera: the latter is rubbing the bruise on her head, muttering curses, the first one is sheepishly picking up the pages on the floor, trying to hide his red cheeks.

Both refuse to speak and she looks up at where Leliana’s spies are. She sees Dorian and he nods at her, moving to head down the stairs and join her below.

“Please, go back to your rooms. There is nothing else to see here.” she says to the hooded agents in the room and they all bow and obey, scuttling away with hushed whispers.

“Well?” she asks, voice softer, focusing back on the other two elves. A stubborn silence follows.

She walks over to the desk and waits there, her expression serious, but not stern and unkind.

She looks beautiful, Solas thinks. Her lithe body is framed by her delicate nightgown like a flower by its petals and the red and copper of her hair is even more vivid against the yellow color of her shawl.

The light of the candles illuminates her like an aura of golden dust and he can’t look away.

She returns his look with a smile and a quizzical tilt of her head.

“It has been quite the spectacle.”

Dorian’s sleepy voice breaks the silence. The Tevinter leans against the couch, a hand on his mouth to hide his yawn, and continues: “That imp over there bothered your poor boyfriend with ill words.”

Scarlet turns to Sera with wide eyes, which narrow as she exclaims: “Sera!”

“I wonder what satisfaction you gained from such a ridiculous act. You ruined everyone’s sleep too!” Dorian continues, not aware of the way his hair is sticking out and his mustache is disheveled. He seems to sense it, though, because he starts to curl it while glaring at the blonde elf.

“Shut it, Dorian!” Sera shouts, stomping her foot. Her bruise is darker than before, just like her grim face. “I was just joking! It’s not my fault he doesn’t know how to do that!”

But then she glances at Solas and something akin to guilt flashes in her eyes.

“I do not appreciate this kind of jokes and pranks.” Solas coldly replies and she sticks out her tongue at him for the second time. He snarls, shaking his head. “Insensitive child.”

“At least I am not a rotten egg who can’t get his staff up!” she retorts, taking great pride in seeing his face and ears turn red like before, but hers are equally burning and she is babbling. “Your boyfriend doesn’t work, Inquisitor! He’s too old for sex stuff now!”

She runs away, her cackles echoing in the rotunda, while Scarlet gasps and turns to Solas.

He isn’t looking at her, pretending to be too busy fixing the wrinkled pages and the book, but he knows he is clenching his jaw too tightly and that his hands are shaking.

He drops the book and the disarrayed pile of notes on the desk and excuses himself with a feeble ‘goodnight’, leaving the room before Scarlet can stop him.

He hears perfectly her calling his name in alarm as he opens the door to the hall, but he quickens his pace and almost runs back to their rooms.

There, finally alone and far from curious ears, he lets his emotions flow free. He steps into the balcony that overlooks the fortress and looks up at the starlit sky.

He senses the Veil, ancient, frail and strong at the same time; he knows it almost like the lines on his hands, it’s like hearing his own heartbeat in the ribcage of the sky.

And so he yells at it, even conjures a fire spell which he throws into the endless darkness.

“Fall!” he shouts, summoning another flame that illuminates briefly the night. “Fall!”

Then something shatters, but it’s not the Veil: it’s inside him, the cold realization of the foolish thing he is doing. He steps back and slides down the wall, a sob making its way up his throat.

“Don’t fall.” he says softly, a prayer, a wish. “Don’t fall.”

The Veil remains silent and Solas is quiet too; his hands, unmoving on his lap, don’t tremble anymore.

He longs for Scarlet’s presence.

After a while, he groggily gets up and goes back into the warm room. He passes by her desk and sees something he has seen before: a drawing that fell out of an ancient book in the vault library, depicting a cozy house in a forest.

He saw Scarlet pick it up and observe it for long moments, before asking him if it was right to take it.

The book was ruined and not important, so there was no reason to put the page back in its place if she liked it so much.

He remembers he kissed her and asked with a smile: “Is this illustration to your liking, _vhenan_?”

She blushed and replied, her own smile melancholic and awed: “The Dalish don’t have houses. The idea of domesticity is… unknown to us. We don’t know what it feels like to have a place of our own that nobody can take away from us.”

She touched the soft, faded lines on the page and timidly added: “I’d like to live in a house like this someday.”

Many months have passed since that day and he has finally found that illustration again; he had no idea where she had put it, but now he understands that she slipped it between the pages of one of her books to keep it safe.

He gently takes it and studies it carefully: the house is rustic and elegant at the same time, two floors, many windows, a lovely door, a garden and a forest surrounding it.

He sits down without even thinking and takes a blank, white page and a piece of charcoal. He glances at the illustration one last time, then starts drawing, his strokes quick and confident, with no hesitation.

It takes him only a few minutes and the final result satisfies him. He made a house map, each room with its own purpose, the layout functional and clear.

There are three bedrooms on the second floor and he adds names to them too.

 _Our bedroom_ , he writes on the bigger one, the one where they will kiss and dream together.

 _Fenor’s bedroom_ , he writes on the second one, the one where their son will play and sleep.

 _Ashera’s bedroom_ , he writes on the third one, the one where their daughter will laugh and rest.

He overheard Scarlet talk about these possible names with Cole and he finds them to be beautiful too.

He falls asleep there, cheek squished against the illustration, his hand resting on his drawing and the rooms he so wants to live in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course it got sad, OF COURSE.
> 
> By the way, [Fenor](http://lafaiette.tumblr.com/tagged/fenor) and [Ashera](http://lafaiette.tumblr.com/tagged/ashera) are Solas and [Scarlet](http://lafaiette.tumblr.com/scarletlavellan)'s children! I wanted to reference them in this fic too, because I live for Solavellan family and happy endings.
> 
> Has Solas' dick decided to go into uthenera? Will he finally get some peace? I guess we will know in the next chapter.
> 
> Look at the [beautiful comic](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/post/139938096093/elven-glory-1-4-nsfw) that [trashwarden](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/) made for the first scene! ( ´ ▽ ` )


	4. Chapter 4

Her lips wake him up.

He feels them against his cheek, soft and warm, and his eyes flutter open. He sees hers, golden and worried, the curtain of red hair falling around her face, the yellow shawl on her small shoulders.

“Solas.” she whispers, her voice delicate and light like a feather, her hand a comforting weight on his hunched back. “ _Ma vhenan_ , don’t sleep here. Come to bed.”

He makes a low sound and grimaces, bothered by the foul taste in his mouth. He must have slept with his mouth open and sees that’s indeed the case when he notices drool on a corner of the illustration of the house.

His right hand, resting on his charcoal map, is dirty, his fingertips black and dusty.

He clears his throat and grunts as he rolls his shoulders to soothe the discomfort and pain caused by sleeping in such a bad position; even with all his experience in naps in the most incredible, unusual, various places, resting hunched over a hard desk is hardly a good idea.

Especially when one is as old as he is.

He turns to Scarlet with bleary eyes, a cold shame in his soul, so cold it froze everything inside him and now he feels empty and devoid of any possible reaction. The humiliation he suffered in the rotunda hasn’t left his mind, not after such a beautiful dream like the one he has just had.

That dream made the pain even worse and his worries feel centuplicated: he was living in the same house he drew the map of, Scarlet at his side, their children running and playing in the garden.

Curious spirits lingered at the borders of the dream, peeking into it and observing the figures his magic had conjured. A little boy and a little girl, their features similar to his and Scarlet’s.

A world where the truth had been told and love and acceptance filled every corner of it like magic.

He misses it, even if it didn’t exist - _‘Not yet.’_ the hopeful part of him thinks -, and his sigh is sad and tired as he gets up.

“I… I brought the book and notes you left in the rotunda.” Scarlet says, pointing at where she left them on the couch. She is fidgeting and wringing her hands, clearly unsure whether she did the right thing or not.

She studies his face to see his reaction, but Solas simply looks back at her, his expression patient and still sleepy, waiting for her to speak again. She blushes.

“I also told the agents not to say a word about what happened, not even to Leliana. They swore they will never speak of it.”

That’s a relief. The last thing he needs are rumors and gossips about his bodily problems.

His love for her and some of that relief melt the ice of shame protecting him from further offense and he smiles, a small thing that warms his eyes and her heart.

“Thank you, _vhenan_.”

She returns the smile, dimples on her red cheeks, then looks down at the desk. Her eyes widen as she sees what he has found and drawn. However, to avoid embarrassing him, she doesn’t mention it and slowly slips the illustration - together with his house map - back into the pages of the book.

“Let’s go to bed.” she says softly, taking his hand, but Solas doesn’t budge and stays still, staring at her in silence. She is confused, thinking he wants to tell her something, and she is right: there is so much he wants to tell her, so many of those words he stubbornly hid away inside himself, and yet his throat refuses to let them out and his mouth stays shut.

“Solas…?”

She is getting worried again and he moves before she can think it’s her fault, before she panics and thinks he hasn’t recovered from the incident in the rotunda.

He raises his hand and presses one dark fingertip on her jaw, tracing something on it; now she is the one who stays perfectly still, following the movement of his hand while holding her breath. Her hand is still grasping his other one and he squeezes it as he finishes.

She giggles, because she felt him draw a heart.

If his hands can do nothing but sully her, then he wants to draw only marks of love on her.

His eyes move to her _vallaslin_ and his smile, which successfully moved his mouth when she giggled, fades away. She notices that sudden change and takes his dirty hand too, kissing it.

“Solas.” she says as he rests his forehead against hers, eyes cast down. She brings his hands on her heart and tugs at them to make him look at her.

Her eyes are big and sad, but also hopeful and kind, and she rubs his black fingertips; she doesn’t care about her own getting dirty.

“I love you.” she says and his heart rejoices and cries at the same time. He has to bit the soft flesh inside his lower lip to avoid letting out a strangled sob.

“I love you.” she repeats, pressing a kiss on his mouth which makes his head spin. “I will always love you, no matter what. You know that, right?”

He finally smiles, but he knows it’s a heart-wrenching, pitiful sight. His lips are quivering and his hands in hers are trembling. His eyes sting and Scarlet panics and so does he.

He is making her feel guilty, making her feel like this is her fault. Why does he always do that? Why can’t he shake his burden off his shoulders, toss it into a fire and finally free both of them from this web of unpronounced words and hidden truths?

He knows why: fear and also love prevent him from finally speaking, but this is causing his body to feel bad too, after so much time spent shoving all his worries into his guts, pretending they weren’t there.

No matter what, she said. She thinks he is desperate because of his problems with his body. She thinks he fears she will leave him because of those.

What would she say if he told her everything? Would that ‘no matter what’ still count?

He wants to know. Every part of his body and soul thrums, vibrates, resonates, longing for release, for finally dropping that weight and fall at her feet.

And then what?

Refusal, hatred, tears? Or a house, hidden in a quiet forest, filled with little feet and kisses in front of the hearth?

And what about the restoration of the Elves? He tries to imagine that same little house in a world filled with magic and immortality and finds it to be possible, feasible.

But would she agree to the sacrifices he would have to make? Would she help him or would she hate him for it?

No matter what, she said, and he believes her. No matter what, she will stay at his side and carry his same burden.

She doesn’t deserve that.

He kisses her forehead as she digs her fingers into his hands, panicking and scared.

“Solas.” she breathes, heart racing, searching for an answer on his face. She is about to cry. “You know that, right?”

“I know.” he reassures her, still smiling, and kisses her humid eyes. She makes a tiny sound starting from her throat and his arms tighten around her like gentle, but strong ivy, enveloping her in a secure hold.

“ _Vhenan_ , I have to tell you something.” he starts and two parts of himself - the one that wants to reveal her everything, the hopeful one that is sure they will find a solution together, and the one scared and bound to his duty - clash and fizzle, like two different lightning spells meeting on a battlefield.

He inhales and exhales, fast intakes of breath that should help him feel better, but only makes his heart accelerate instead. Scarlet waits, one arm around his waist, her right hand on his shoulder, returning the embrace with all the strength of her lithe, but surprisingly sturdy body.

She probably thinks he had discovered something bad about his condition, that he has to tell her he is sick. Maybe she fears this is her fault too, that she did something that caused his body to feel like this.

Her hand moves to cup his cheek, her eyes are lost into his, and so he speaks.

“I love you too, more than words can express. And you must promise me that you will always remember that.” He brings his face close to hers, so much he can feel her breath on it. His hands dig into her nightgown, wrinkling the fabric and lifting it.

“Promise me, _vhenan_. Promise you will remember that, in the darkest hour, in the worst moments. Promise you will never doubt that.”

“I promise.” she says immediately with a nod of her head, then surprise replaces her sadness and confusion when he raises his hand and shows her his little finger.

“Pinkie promise.” he smiles and she lets out a breathy laughter in which tears still echo, but relief manages to be heard too. She wraps her pinkie finger around his and he moves their hands up and down like he saw her doing.

“Good.” He kisses her eyes before she can start crying again, a sweet gesture to push away her tears and dry her wet eyelashes. He is breathing more easily now, although he still feels his lungs burn and a terrible ache in his chest, as if he has been punched repeatedly there.

“Solas, what’s wrong?” she asks in a small voice as he kisses her knuckles.

“Nothing, my love.” he replies, his smile bigger, less sad, more comforting. He brushes back the hair from her face, tucking one red lock behind her ear, then continues: “I think I know what caused my peculiar current condition. It is easily fixable.”

“Really?” she gasps, then worry kicks in again and she shakes her head. “Maybe we should go to a healer all the same. Just to be sure it’s not something serious and…”

“It is not.” His lips touch her knuckles again and he kisses each of her fingertips, tinted with gray after touching his. “You were right. All the past worries and concern for the future are making me feel like this. It shall pass soon.”

“But the notes you took! The list of potions and remedies!”

“For old age.” he explains and despite everything he laughs. “But we will see if they are truly necessary. For now, let us go to sleep. It’s already late.”

Scarlet sighs, not entirely convinced, not even by his smile, but he feels content, calm somehow - he doesn’t even know when and how it happened.

Perhaps he is already getting better, much faster than he hoped. It’s like his mind is slowly reaching the solution, the right way to tell Scarlet the truth, in discreet silence, as if to give him a pleasant surprise in the end.

It would be nice to know his mind isn’t trying to hurt him for once.

“Come, _vhenan_.” he says, kissing her forehead and gently pulling away the shawl from her shoulders; he folds it and places it on an empty space on the desk, before going to the bed with her hand in hand.

She is already wearing her nightgown, so she slips under the sheets as he prepares for the night: the few clothes he owns are in the wardrobe, together with hers and the various outfits she might need for special occasions.

She sewed new sweaters and pants for him and he bought new stuff that could come in handy in the everyday life: a second handkerchief, new breeches, new wrappings for his legs, even a housecoat for the coldest days in Skyhold.

Little, important things that tell of a life lived together, of domestic routines and familiar moments shared with each other.

Scarlet also sewed two pairs of pyjamas for him, the fabric soft and warm, both with trees and elegant motifs embroidered on the sleeves, a heart hidden inside each which he discovered immediately.

He wears the green and red one tonight, his eyes always following her as she fixes the sheets and pillows on her - _their_ \- bed. There is a rune of fire under its wooden frame that he cast to keep it warm during the night: he activates it and a wave of warmth floods the mattress, reaching Scarlet and the pillows she is gently hitting to reshape them.

He gets under the sheets and places his hands on her cold feet: he massages the thin ankles, the calloused soles, rubs the small scar near the big toe of her right foot, then summons a new surge of warmth.

She giggles, because he seizes the chance to tickle the sensitive skin of her calves, and he grins, pushing her down onto the mattress.

He moves to take her into his arms, to wrap himself around her like a cocoon of gentle limbs and playful lips, but she precedes him and slips her arms and legs under corners and parts of his body that he didn’t know he had, locking him in a fierce, passionate, heartwarming embrace.

Then she starts kissing him, relentlessly. Slow, little kisses all over his face: he tries to catch her lips, but she is clever and dodges his without problems, without even trying. In the end, he can only surrender and snort and _giggle_ when she finds the ticklish spots of his neck and jaw.

His arms tightens around her, pressing her so close to himself he is sure their flesh and bones are mixed together now. He tries to hide his face in the pillow, his snorts louder, his noises short and high-pitched.

He should feel embarrassed, but he feels only happy and the burning mortification from before seems like a distant, faraway memory.

She compliments him, not just with her kisses, but with kind words too and even though a part of him can’t accept them, another part is touched, flattered, flustered.

She is complimenting Solas, who is also Fen’Harel, but she doesn’t know that - _not yet_. Her thoughts are sincere, her compliments are filled with honesty, all for him, for _Solas_ , and he feels content, because she loves the awkward, old man who grimaces when he drinks tea, trips over stones, and gets excited like a child when he talks about the Fade, magic, or different kinds of sweets.

Sex has never been the major, most important part of their relationship. The weeks they spent while his length refused to rise have been wonderful, magical as always, not any different from the days during which his mind didn’t inhibit his body.

But before the end - _or new beginning_ \- comes, he would like to make love to her and become one with her like before, to make her feel even better.

One step at a time, she said the day they returned from the Emerald Graves.

She is right. There is still time and he now that he has found the answer and the possible solution, he will focus on the immediate, let his mind and the world around him do the rest, and hope for the best.

They fall asleep in that mix of tangled limbs, Scarlet’s face squished against his neck, his mouth drooling and lightly snoring in her hair.

She drew a heart on his cheek, using the charcoal left on her fingertips.

He finds her in the Fade and brings her to a quiet part of it, where only a few gentle spirits dwell and memories of ancient ruins are recreated, murals and mosaics shimmering on the walls in their old splendor.

They discuss with the spirits about their original purpose and he observes, happy, as she laughs and jokes with the inhabitants of the Beyond, listening to their theories with respect and asking questions with badly refrained curiosity.

She turns to him, smiling and dressed in light, and he smiles too, both in the dream and in the waking world.

 

\- - - -

 

Even though he decided to let his subconscious find the right way to speak with her and finally unravel this knot that tied the nerves of his body and mind, some of their companions won’t drop the topic of his malfunctioning length.

He is grateful that only a bunch of Leliana’s agents witnessed the shameful scene in the rotunda the last night, that they promised they won’t report a word of it nor spread rumors. When he steps back into the room the next morning, no muffled giggles, no intrigued stares, no whispers reach him.

On the contrary, people still remember the day he carried Scarlet through the hall with a well visible erection pushing through his pants. The gossip and whispers about _that_ haven’t ended yet.

He can go back to his old studies without worrying, then; only Dorian might bring the incident up and in fact he does, as soon as Solas goes to the upper level to retrieve some books he needs.

“Solas, my friend!” the Tevinter calls with too much cheerfulness. His smile is so big the tips of his mustache aren’t within the borders of his face anymore.

Solas instinctively scowls and a blush burns his cheeks and ears. The librarian and two scouts turn around, but only for a moment; the others ignore them, busy with their own work or too focused on their conversations to pay mind to theirs.

He sighs as Dorian waves at him from his table: there are more papers on it than the night before and the bottles of wine are gone. He seems to be busy with some Venatori routes and he is holding the letter in his hand with peculiar delicateness.

“A message from that dear Nevarran girl I worked with time ago.” he explains even though Solas asked nothing. It seems he wants to start some idle chat before getting to the point.

His smile is even bigger than before and Solas can feel his scowl dig permanently into his furrowed brow.

“Now, now, why the annoyed, grumpy face? I only wanted to greet you and wish you a good morning!”

“You did. May I leave now?”

Dorian pushes the chair in front of him with a foot and nods at it, his smile slowly turning smug.

“It would be a very _nice_ morning if you sat down first.”

Solas’ patience is growing thin and his doubts and fears are growing as big as the scarred sky above their heads. Still, he doesn’t want to be rude and Dorian clearly has something for him; if he refuses to listen, he will be pestered for the whole day.

So he sits down, placing his own papers and books on a free corner of the table, and waits, hands on his knees, glare fixated on the human mage.

Dorian looks extremely satisfied.

“So,” he starts, pretending to read his maps and notes, “for how long has your… problem been going on?”

Solas’ glare might freeze over the entirety of the Western Approach, he is sure. He feels a corner of his mouth move in a wince, as if he has been stung by something.

Maybe it’s his pride and shame coming back.

“Some weeks.” he admits in the end. There is no reason to lie or pretend he doesn’t know what the other is talking about. “But I can hardly see how this concerns you.”

“Of course it does!” Dorian babbles outraged, forgetting about his notes and the letter. “I am worried about my best friend’s sexual life!”

Solas’ shoulders slump and a heavy weight drops on his guts.

“Did she…” he clears his throat and tries again, mouth dry: “Did she complain about this?”

“Never. I didn’t even know about this until yesterday.” Dorian curls his mustache with an air of nonchalant elegance. “To be honest, after that merry walk you took in the hall, everyone here in Skyhold believes you two have the most amazing sex life in Thedas. I heard Bull complain about the damage to his reputation.”

Solas shuffles uncomfortably on his seat. He _might_ have caught some odd reactions out of the corner of his eye earlier before, as he passed through the main hall to get to the rotunda. He didn’t pay them much attention, but now…

“It _shocks_ me to know this is not the case.” Dorian continues with a playful, wry tone. “Although I could have sworn I truly heard some interesting… ah, _noises_ coming out of your tent and room on multiple occasions.”

“Everything was fine until a few weeks ago.” Solas begrudgingly explains, fingers digging into the torn fabric of his pants. “It started during our trip in the Emerald Graves.”

“And you already excluded the possibility of sickness, poisoning, bladder or liver illnesses…”

“Of course!”

“… aging and psychological reasons?”

Solas immediately falls silent at that, a pale statue of stubbornness and pride.

He huffs and scowls harder when Dorian chuckles; the human starts rummaging into his pockets, continuing: “Good thing I love Scarlet so much. Here!”

He theatrically places a small, red bottle at the center of the table, after ensuring nobody is looking their way.

There is a tiny piece of paper tied to it with a black string and Solas eyes it with suspicion, before quirking an eyebrow and looking up at Dorian.

“I asked dear Dagna to go buy this for me at one of the booths in the courtyard.” the Tevinter explains, although he isn’t really saying what the bottle _is_. He scoffs, shaking his head. “I couldn’t risk _my_ reputation. Can you imagine the rumors? The sheer joy of the southerners upon hearing the terrible Altus from Tevinter has problems in bed?”

Realization shines in Solas’ eyes and he pushes the bottle away, the farthest he can from himself. He made a list of aphrodisiacs and potions, yes, but he was keeping those as the last, possible solution in case all this mess is truly caused by old age.

Receiving one of such potions from another person is horrible. Mortifying. He feels like hiding in bed for a whole month just thinking about it.

“No.”

“Oh, come on! It’s famous stuff, directly from Kirkwall! At least read what it is about!”

He grants him that at least, since he has been so _kind_ to worry about his and Scarlet’s sex life… although he _really_ didn’t have to.

He unties the piece of paper and unfolds it, without sparing Dorian another heated glare.

The first words already make him groan.

 

_FEELING INADEQUATE?_

_Flag flying at half-mast? Does your soldier not stand to attention? Does your dwarf shy away from the Deep Roads? Come to Jorman’s Apothecary and ask for our Special Sauce. Our Special Sauce is infused with the essences of fifty-two herbs. It’s completely natural, completely safe, and ABSOLUTELY EFFECTIVE. You will never feel the same again!_

_Be the man other men want to be. Be the man you DESERVE to be._

 

This piece of paper is right about one thing. He definitely will never feel the same again after reading it.

His face as he looks up at Dorian is miserable and grim and ashamed. Dorian ignores it.

“It’s one of the best remedies on the market, my friend. Nothing like the simple drinks described in the books.” he insists. There is no mockery in his tone, his smile contains a trace of sympathy, but Solas’ urge to go rot somewhere is growing stronger with each passing second.

“I…” Solas croaks out. He clears his throat again and whispers through gritted teeth: “I will not use this.”

“You are being positively selfish.” Dorian retorts and now it’s his turn to glare. “If this has been going on for so long, then Scarlet must be worried sick about your health! And you are doing nothing to fix this!”

“I am.” Solas assures him, his hands closed into fists. “Also, Scarlet and I talked about it and found reassurance in each other.”

“How sweet.” Dorian says flatly, then pushes the bottle towards him again. “So I assume you know why your body is refusing to be aroused?”

“I do.” Both men are engaged in a fight of glares, their eyes narrowed, shooting daggers at each other. Solas is surprised no leg has kicked his shins yet.

“And how do you intend to fix your… advanced age, pray tell?” Dorian asks, laying back on his chair and crossing his arms on his chest. He taps one finger against his forearm.

“Don’t tell me there is an ancient elven spell capable of making you younger, because I will not believe you.” He seems doubtful for a moment, then asks almost timidly: “It doesn’t exist, right?”

Solas sighs exasperatedly and pushes back the bottle at the center of the table.

“No, it does not. But it is not old age that…” He silences Dorian with a glare when he opens his mouth. “It’s _probably_ not old age what is causing my condition.”

“Ohhhh.” Understanding and curiosity shine in the Altus’ eyes. “Psychological reasons, then.”

Between answering candidly and stubborn silence, Solas chooses the latter again.

“Well,” Dorian says thoughtfully, scratching his chin while staring absentmindedly at the ceiling, “if you are so concerned about your performances in bed because you feel _old_ , just think that our beloved Inquisitor has eyes only for you, has already picked the names of your future children, and mentions you basically every day. She doesn’t even notice the way _young_ Loranil looks at her from across the garden. If she does, she doesn’t care and cruelly ignores him.”

The mention of that boy sends a bitter jolt of rage down Solas’ throat, but that is overwhelmed by the much stronger feeling of happiness and genuine surprise. Even after all this time, he can’t believe she chose _him_ , that she wants to stay with _him_ , that she willingly spends her time, days and nights, with _him_.

A smile must have blossomed on his face, because Dorian is grinning smugly again. Solas shifts his expression back into a scowl and grunts.

“I am not concerned about my old age. Others are the things troubling me and they do not concern you _at all_.” He sighs and thinks that a certain degree of civility and gratefulness is in order.

He does feel grateful, to be honest. The Altus is worried for Scarlet - and for him too - and even risked a delicate part of his reputation to help them. That tells a lot about the goodness and selflessness of his heart. Scarlet is lucky to have him as her best friend.

So Solas gets up, retrieves his books, and says, looking him in the eye: “Thank you. I appreciate what you were trying to do.”

Dorian seems surprised for a moment, then his expression turns amused and nonchalant again and he waves his words off.

“Do not mention it. If you believe this truly can’t help you, then I won’t insist. A pity, though.” He takes the tiny bottle and observes it carefully, furrowing his brows and wrinkling his nose. His mustaches moves funnily. “I read they even used a new ingredient for the updated version. Wolf’s balls, I think. ‘ _To free the beast within you!_ ’”

Solas splutters some elven curses and storms off, his ears redder than the liquid in the bottle.

 

\- - - -

 

Scarlet cannot visit him due to the many meetings with nobles and ambassadors she must attend to, so he decides to go to the stables and help Blackwall paint the toys he made for the refugees.

It has become an enjoyable way to spend the time, an event to share thoughts, feel useful, and use their talent to make people feel better. They stopped doing it after Blackwall’s revelation, but now it’s a way to reform that bond of mutual respect and camaraderie.

Solas made the first step, coming to the stables with a pair of brushes and some colors like old times. He still remembers Blackwall’s shock and great relief upon seeing him and hearing him say: “I see you made more wooden toys. Do you need help coloring them?”

After all, he isn’t exactly the right person who can judge the fake Warden and his lies. And Scarlet already did that: she judged him and decided to forgive him, asking him only to try to redeem himself through his actions.

That made even more hope blossom in Solas’ heart.

Today he works on a small eagle that a child requested Blackwall, while the human patiently chisels the wings of another griffon.

“Any news?” the bearded man asks, blowing over the wood to remove the dust.

“Our army needs more time to prepare against Corypheus’. The Commander has not given an exact amount of time yet.” Solas dabs tiny black buttons on the eagle’s neck. “Morale is strong, however, and the guests are satisfied and deeply impressed by the Inquisition.”

“All’s good then.” Blackwall grunts with satisfaction. He waits some seconds, then his tone completely changes and he asks, slowly, measuring every word: “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask…”

Solas stiffens, because he doesn’t like the hesitation in his voice.

“I heard Sera grumble some very odd things this morning, at the tavern.” Blackwall turns to him with a puzzled, but also amused face. “Something about your… uh… _dusty elven flag_?”

Solas chokes on his own saliva and a long black streak now decorates the eagle’s wing. He wheezes and coughs until his eyes swell with tears, then he manages to breathe air into his lungs and stares at the other man with horror.

“ _What?_ ” he croaks out.

“Well, yes.” Blackwall rubs his neck, looking away. He looks like he is regretting to have brought this up. “She was making cookies in the kitchen, Cabot gives her permission to use it sometimes. She looked upset and couldn’t stop grumbling under her breath, so I asked her what was wrong and she mentioned… uh, that. Dusty elven flag, a book on her head, stuff to… raise something?”

Solas makes a strangled sound and goes back to his toy, focusing every part of his mind on fixing its paint. He ignores Blackwall when he asks: “Did you two argue? I couldn’t understand what she meant, she almost sounded like Cole.” A pause. “Don’t tell her that, please.”

A long silence follows and Solas is perfectly aware of his burning ears, that he is chewing his lower lip and pressing the brush too strongly onto the eagle, but he _refuses_ to speak of this with Blackwall.

They are friends, but this is private, it’s something that belongs only to him and Scarlet. He has no intention of discussing this with another person, Dorian was already enough.

“It was a mere disagreement.” he lies, hoping Blackwall will believe him and ask no more questions. “We both acted poorly. That’s it.”

Blackwall hums, but thankfully doesn’t insist and they go back to their work in amicable silence, although Solas can count every one of his heartbeats and his lips hurt a lot.

The sun is setting when he goes back to the fortress; he stops by the hall to talk a bit with Varric first - and make sure no rumors of his argument with Sera reached his ears -, then enters the rotunda.

He sighs when he sees the small plate of cookies resting on his desk.

There is a piece of paper folded under it and he pulls it out, opening it and expecting the worst. The handwriting is childish and crude.

 

_Sorry for mocking your old-ass dick._

The drawing of a phallus is sketched under those words, with an arrow pointing to it and a triumphant declaration of talent: “ _Better than yours!_ ”

He hopes she is referring to the sketches he made for his notes and not his actual manhood. That would be even worse.

He glances down at the cookies with suspicion and disdain, but a part of him wants to believe Sera is sincerely sorry. He is torn between taking a bite and avoiding a terrible stomachache he fears would undoubtedly come.

Scarlet enters in that moment, tired, a bit disheveled, her hands full of letters and missives she needs to read and reply to. She beams at him, her cheeks regaining color, her smile bringing enthusiasm and joy back to her eyes and Solas’ heart.

“My heart.” he greets her softly, smiling for the first time in hours. He goes to her and kisses her one, two, three times. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” she sighs happily, giggling when his hands cup her face and squish and rub her cheeks. “I met so many nobles and ambassadors today I can’t even remember their names or faces. I think I mispronounced the name of one of them, but they didn’t say anything. Oh, some new scholars are in visit to see our library downstairs! And I already spoke with Dagna and Harritt to upgrade and modify all our armors. And…”

She stops when she sees the tender way he is smiling at her and blushes, letting out a timid, soft chuckle.

“Sorry, I was babbling again.” She yelps when she moves her arms too much and a big majority of the letters fall on the ground. Solas chuckles and picks them up and holds them for her.

“I love your babbling. It is quite adorable.” he says, kissing her forehead and smiling when she groans and tries to thump him. She doesn’t miss that occasion to peck his chin, though.

“Hush, silly. How was your day?”

“Long and mildly productive.” he replies as they head to the center of the rotunda. And then she sees them.

“Cookies!” she exclaims, putting down the letters on the desk. She sees the piece of paper left open and gasps.

“The message could have been better, but at least she apologized!” she exclaims, grinning at Solas.

He wants to kiss her and hold her and bask in her presence for all eternity. She can see good in almost everyone and everything and even a rude letter such as this one means something positive to her.

Still, that doesn’t mean she can’t be naïve sometimes.

She takes one cookie and brings it to her mouth. Solas makes a high-pitched, undignified, strangled sound and grasps her wrist.

“ _Vhenan_.” he says softly, his gaze intense and afraid. “They could be poisoned.”

“Solas!” she chides him, frowning at him. “Don’t say that!”

A low whine leaves his throat and he tugs at her hand with gentle insistence. “ _Vhenan_ , please.”

He knows there is worry and a plea written all over his face and she sees them. She sighs, kisses him, then says: “I know Sera can be… impossible to deal with sometimes, but she is not bad. This was an act of good will and I am sure she is really sorry for what happened yesterday.”

Solas doesn’t relent and grumbles: “Knowing her, they might be laced with laxative herbs.”

Scarlet gives him a pointed look, then quickly takes one bite. She smiles at him as she munches, but her expression slowly turns into surprise, then a grimace, then heartbroken disappointment.

“ _Vhenan_!” he calls alarmed, already listing in his mind all the healing spells that could help her. “ _Ma vhenan_ , what is wrong?”

She looks at the cookie with sad eyes and mumbles: “They are salty…”

He sighs relieved and rests his forehead against hers. A chuckle bubbles up in his throat and he lets it out, letting it become a full laughter that echoes in the room.

She smiles too, both annoyed and amused, and puts the cookie back on the plate.

“Maybe she didn’t do it on purpose!” she tries to insist, but Solas laughs harder and takes her into his arms, giggling as he presses his mouth on her cheek.

“Alright.” she laughs, roaming her hands up and down his back. “What about we go to the kitchens and take some Orlesian frilly cakes and pastries from the Free Marches and then relax on the couch for the whole evening?”

“That is a wonderful idea.” he kisses her forehead and pulls away, his smile broader. “Wait for me here. I will dispose of these cookies too.”

An idea formed in his mind and he insists for Scarlet to remain in the rotunda and make herself comfortable in the meantime.

“Pick the book you want to read tonight.” he says taking the plate. “I found an interesting collection of poems.”

“ _Love_ poems.” he adds in a whisper as he leans down to kiss her and her eyes and smile are big and bright.

He goes out, but doesn’t head for the kitchens; he goes straight to the garden and is relieved to see it almost empty. The witch and her son must have retired for dinner, just like Mother Giselle, the herbalist, and the other people who usually hang out in this place.

He can see only two people in the distance: a maid taking care of the last leaves fallen near the pots and his target.

 _Young_ Loranil, fixing the lamps of the garden so they will shed more light for the night.

He is at the other side of the garden and Solas spots his small leather bag - decorated with Dalish carvings - on the low wall under one of the many arches. Quietly, silent and invisible like a shadow, he approaches it and places the plate next to the bag, retreating back into the shadows to wait.

After short minutes, Loranil moves to the part of the garden where his belongings are and immediately notices the white dish. Solas observes him from behind a column and sees him tilt his head, look around, then shrug and reach for one of the cookies, an eager smile on his face.

Solas’ face splits into a smug grin when the boy groans, curses, and spits the cookie out of his mouth.

Satisfied, he goes back into the main hall and heads to the kitchens, hands clasped behind his back, imagining with great joy and enthusiasm the lovely evening and night he is going to spend with Scarlet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was basically a wild ride of fluff and I had to cut it in half because IT WAS ALREADY SO LONG.
> 
> The remedy Dorian found is actually [canon](https://40.media.tumblr.com/be9f76b815f79fb9ea80e08159d0630d/tumblr_nkf1paEjj31sc35gro2_540.jpg) and I will never stop laughing about it. The girl he mentions is Tessa from DA: Magekiller. 
> 
> I promise the next chapter is going to be the last. I PROMISE. And if it's not, you have full permission to slap me across my fluff-loving face.
> 
> Look at the [beautiful comic](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/post/139938096093/elven-glory-1-4-nsfw) that [trashwarden](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/) made for the first scene! ( ´ ▽ ` )


	5. Chapter 5

_‘I am the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel. I created the Veil to banish the false elven gods and save the elven people. The orb Corypheus carries is mine. I indirectly gave it to him because…’_

Solas grimaces. Straight to the point and concise will hardly help. He needs to explain things better, to show her why and how things happened.

He closes his eyes and tries again, ignoring the pungent smell of tea coming from the cup on his desk and the insistent squawking of the crows upstairs.

_‘Vhenan, I have to tell you something. The orb Corypheus uses is mine. I am Fen’Harel, but I am no god. I…’_

He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. He is getting nowhere and doing this only causes his body further stress. He needs to focus on something else and let his mind do the rest, find the perfect idea while he is busy with other things.

 _Already completed things_ , he muses grimly as he sees his notes and papers ready to be sent to the Advisors. All precious documents that will help the Inquisition and provide information and support for their next missions, but they are projects and requests that required him only a few days.

He can’t start a new panel of his frescoes until inspiration comes and, right now, his inspiration is as low as his manhood. He could continue his sketches on his leather journal, but seeing all those drawings of Scarlet or making new ones would only make him think about what he must tell her.

With a sigh, he gets up, glances at his tea with distaste, then goes to one panel of the frescoes, pretending to study it.

He is bored.

It’s an alarming thought: he usually has too many things to do in a single day, even in the past, in the old world. Mostly papers to write and books to read, advices to give, plans to prepare and fix, then battles to win, slaves to free.

His job in the Inquisition has not been that much different and everyone, in their own different ways, asked him for help, knowledge, wisdom. The pile of letters, notes, and diagrams that he has to send to the Advisors is the proof of this.

Also, he has traveled much, visiting basically every corner of southern Thedas, fighting and walking and running for days, sleeping for only a few hours, staying away from Skyhold for weeks, sometimes even months.

Sleeping. For the first time in his life, that doesn’t look like an appealing option either and a small, horrified part of him wonders when that happened and how. He looks at the couch and finds it to be terribly empty and cold.

He has also spent much, _much_ time in Scarlet’s company. There hasn’t been one day - or almost - which they didn’t spend together. Sometimes she has been very busy with her duties, but they always found time to relax in each other’s arms, read a book, eat together.

On those occasions when she just couldn’t make it and had to attend to countless meetings or follow every step of the Inquisition’s plans, Solas waited for her in the rotunda, even past midnight, and went to sleep only when she was with him and they were cuddling, warm, safe, and cozy up in the tower.

But these days are different. These days are quiet - too quiet, the soldiers whisper in the corridors -, preannouncing a big change, the chance to finally deal the final blow to Corypheus.

The calm before the storm, which can either destroy their enemy only or hit the Inquisition itself too.

The witch seems to know what Corypheus is seeking, the reason why he has been sacking elven ruins until now. The army is not ready yet and they need more information, news from their allies, more materials to improve the scouts and soldiers’ equipment, but it looks like their journey is coming to an end.

 _His_ journey is coming to an end and he doesn’t have much time.

Anything can happen: either he has the chance to retrieve the Orb or they are going to fail, dying in battle or seeing Corypheus conquer the world. He must act now.

He groans, realizing he didn’t relax at all, but only worsened his anxiety. He needs to get out of this room and let his subconscious do the rest.

He read that’s a good way to find a solution and his spirit friends, despite not being able to give him valid advices, agreed that might indeed help. Even Cole smiled and said that sometimes the mind works better when left alone.

Surprisingly - or maybe not - he didn’t offer to talk with Scarlet in his place nor to find the right words for him. The spirit boy always said the best thing was to tell her, of course, but he never insisted and always gave Solas time and space to come to his conclusions and decisions.

Solas rubs his eyes, which burn after the whole morning spent writing, then heads to the main hall with a slow, quiet pace.

His face lightens up when he sees Scarlet. She is talking to a chevalier, accompanied by her Advisors: Josephine is writing fast on her board, Cullen is peeking from above her shoulder, and Leliana is listening to the chevalier boasting Gaspard’s mighty intellect with a too polite smile.

Scarlet’s is patient, although a bit tired, and she exchanges an ironic look with the Spymaster when the chevalier briefly turns to the Commander to tell him how much he would like Gaspard’s tactics.

They all know too well that the true leader deciding every move is Briala; they received a message from her just a few days ago, the reassurance that Gaspard’s men and her own will aid the Inquisition as best as they can.

Just as Josephine manages to distract the chevalier with a sly question, Scarlet glances right, her tired look intensifying. Then, as she sees Solas, it disappears, melting and turning into surprise, then joy.

Her professional mask, the one she wears every time she has to deal with her duties as Inquisitor, falls and the young woman who loves sweet berries and coats her hands and mouth red with their juice, who can’t play cards and grumbles while writing letters to nobles, who sews stuffed animals, cute things on her friends’ clothes and giggles when he kisses her nose, appears.

She beams at him and even waves discreetly at him. He waves back, tilting his head and smiling.

“Much work?” he mouths and her face falls. She nods sadly, then rolls her eyes and makes a face, obviously referring to the chevalier, currently describing in great, exaggerated detail Gaspard’s fighting style. Apparently he fights like ‘a high dragon in heat, full of righteous fire and unmatchable strength’.

Scarlet glares at the human with not well hidden distaste while he bursts into laughter and holds his own chest, the Advisors trying their best not to drag him out of the hall. It looks like Leliana is going to give up soon.

Solas chuckles; it would have turned into a full laughter, but he presses his hand on his mouth to prevent that and sees Scarlet stifle her own giggles.

They stare at each other from across the vast room and time, as it always happens when he is with her, seems to stop.

Specks of light float around her face and he can see her blush as his smile broadens.

There is only her in the room: any other person and sound is vague and blurred, simple shadows in the background dimmed by the light she casts.

His heart aches, a good kind of pain, the best kind; one red lock of hair falls near her cheek and he has to force himself not to rush to her, tuck it behind her ear and kiss her in front of everyone.

She looks down, her smile so big her cheeks must be hurting; she bites her lips, then looks at him again, hesitates for a second, then mouths: “Lunch, later?”

“Of course.” he responds and wants it to be that way forever. Eating together, waking up together and falling asleep together, day after day, month after month, year after year.

Scarlet grins, then waves at him again, just in time, because the chevalier focuses his attention on her and demands to receive hers fully in return as he promises the best results on the battlefield.

Solas keeps staring at her for some more minutes, then painfully moves, knowing he would stay like that and look at her for the rest of the day otherwise.

He yelps as he turns to the main door and sees Varric, Dorian, and Bull staring at him with smartass smirks, sitting at the table in front of the fireplace.

“Hello, Chuckles.” the dwarf says, his tone extremely cheerful as he puts down one card.

“Enjoyed the view?” Bull adds, his smirk turning into a full grin. He takes a sip from his mug of ale while Solas glares at the trio and pretends to ignore the way his ears are burning.

He moves to return to the rotunda - willing to spend there the entire day and go mad with boredom if necessary -, but the other men’s loud calls and amicable complaints stop him.

“Come on, Chuckles, there is nothing bad in staring at someone! Especially if they are your sweetheart and you are not doing it in a creepy way.” Varric turns to Dorian. “Do you think he was doing it in a creepy way?”

“More like _saccharine_.” the Altus answers, munching a plump grape without making any sound - how does he do that?

“I am glad you found amusement in a simple manifestation of love.” Solas replies flatly, before sighing at Bull’s fluttering eyes and singing voice: “Solas and Scarlet, sitting in a tree!”

“Stop.” the elf says, approaching the table and folding his arms. “Right now.”

Despite himself, a corner of his mouth turns upwards when Bull raises his mug and makes smooching sounds at it.

“ _Mwah!_ Oh my heart, you are more beautiful than ever today! _Mwah!_ More beautiful than the green, floating rocks of the Fade!”

Varric and Dorian laugh, catching the attention of some of the people walking by the table, then the dwarf says: “We were going to the tavern to get some more beer and start a round of Wicked Grace. Are you with us, Chuckles?”

Varric always asks him that. Either out of politeness or sincere friendliness, Solas cannot say, but in the past years the dwarf - and even the others - attempted to invite him to their meetings at the Herald’s Rest.

Scarlet tried to convince him too and he went to one meeting only before refusing the invitation to all the following ones.

He prefers quietness and privacy, the company of one or maximum two other people. The chaos of the tavern bothers him and although in the end he is able to enjoy himself there too, it is tiring and it dries him of all the energies he feels he should spend on other activities he enjoys more.

But today is different. Today _he_ feels different and the thought of spending the rest of the day in the rotunda, alone and surrounded only by his frescoes and the crows upstairs, nearly disgusts him.

He knows Scarlet would be happy to know he finally spent some time with their other companions and a few hours playing Wicked Grace in the overcrowded tavern will be a good distraction from his worries.

He looks at where Scarlet is and sees her and the Advisors inviting the chevalier to Josephine’s office, probably to discuss the next moves on the battlefield. They close the door and Scarlet disappears from his sight.

He sighs and looks back at the three men waiting for his answer.

“Thank you.” he starts and sees the way Varric’s eyes change, a light in them that says ‘I already know what you are going to say’. Solas smiles and adds: “I would love that.”

Varric’s eyes widen. Dorian blinks twice, slowly. Bull’s face splits into a huge, blinding grin.

“Really?!” the dwarf exclaims, smiling as well, and the Tevinter laughs happily, getting up excitedly and retrieving his pouch and mug of ale.

“Wonderful, wonderful news! This round of cards is going to be thrilling!”

“Solas.” Bull whispers, pretending to be very stealthy. “If I promise to share my portion of pastries with you at dinner, will you go easy on me?”

“Interesting offer.” Solas smiles serenely as they head out of the main hall. He thinks about it for a moment - he truly does -, then his smile broadens. “I am afraid I cannot do that.”

Bull groans, already lamenting the amount of coins he is going to lose. Solas has some he can spare in his pockets: they should be enough to start and he has no intention of losing them anyway.

As he expected, the tavern is full of people, especially since lunch time is approaching.

The bard is singing _Enchanter_ in front of the fire, while maids scurry around bringing food and drinks to the many customers and refugees. As usual, Cabot is behind the counter, cleaning glasses and offering something to drink to the weary messengers.

Solas spots their table immediately: Blackwall and Krem are animatedly discussing something over two bottles of wine. A maid already brought food: roasted chicken and potatoes and a weird soup which twists his stomach.

Some people turn to watch them, mostly soldiers who wave at Bull or servants who nod at Varric. But there are also surprised looks directed at him.

Solas sees one of his agents at the counter and the poor lad stares at him as if hair has just grown on his head. Then he pretends to be deeply interested in his drink, but it’s obvious his boss’ presence in the tavern surprised him and many others.

“Maker’s breath!” Blackwall exclaims as they walk to the table. “Solas, is it really you?” He turns to Krem, beard shifting as he grins, and offers him his arm. “Quick, son, pinch me and see if I’m dreaming!”

“I assure you this is not a dream or trick of the Fade.” Solas chuckles, sitting down, and Varric looks happy like a child in a bakery as he shuffles the cards.

“Get ready to lose lots of coins, folks!”

Bull grumbles. Solas smiles politely.

“Probably.”

“There are new pastries from Starkhaven, Cabot told me.” Blackwall whispers, as if he’s telling a big secret. He narrows his eyes, his stare intense, a soldier ready to plan an alliance. “I’ll give you half of my portion.”

“Why are you all trying to bribe me instead of trying to beat me?” Solas chuckles, taking the covered cards Varric is passing him. He doesn’t lift them to see them, not yet. “I might not be in the ideal conditions to play today. This could be an easy win, for all you know.”

“Easy win my ass.” Krem grumbles, glaring at his cards. He kicks Bull’s leg when he tries to see what he got.

“Alright, let’s start betting.” Dorian sighs and he theatrically kisses two sovereigns before putting them on the scratched table.

“Goodbye, my dearest.” he sniffs, drying a non-existent tear. “It has been good to have you in my purse.”

Despite the loud conversations going on all around him, the messengers calling the names of those they have letters for, Cabot raising his voice to abnormal levels to be heard above the others, Solas enjoys himself and laughs.

Once he told Varric that he doesn’t play, that isn’t a gambler anymore, and even though he meant something else with that too, it was also a reference to this kind of simpler, less important, less world-changing gambling.

He doesn’t like betting the few coins he has - he could use them to buy sweets or gifts for Scarlet, for emergencies or who knows what else. But right now, in this particular day and moment, he does it with lightheartedness, with a certain child-like enthusiasm and optimism.

Of course he wins the first round and Bull and Blackwall begs him to bet their clothes instead of money. Usually he would accept, but a tavern full of people isn’t the right place for such a game.

He says so, while munching nonchalantly a pastry from the Free Marches and ignoring Krem’s defeated sigh and Dorian’s mumbled words as he counts his remaining money.

“What? Worried about people seeing your dick?” Bull grins, then bursts into a roaring laughter and elbows him when he almost chokes on the pastry.

“People are still talking about that scene in the hall!” The Qunari leans in and whispers with a huge grin, while Solas’ ears burn and he stubbornly looks away: “Say, is it true your pants were already down before reaching the door?”

“ _No!_ ”

He huffs as Bull laughs smacking his hand on the table; out of the corner of his eye, Solas sees Dorian avoiding the topic with sealed lips and a blank face and he is grateful for his tact and respect.

Varric and Blackwall merely chuckle, but Krem is confused instead and looks at each of them with a puzzled expression.

“Wait, I didn’t hear about this! What happened?”

“Solas here carried the Inquisitor to her quarters with a massive erection pushing through his pants.” Bull explains, causing Solas to exhale slowly through his nose - he doesn’t even dare to imagine their reaction if they knew how _lifeless_ the situation inside his pants is these days.

Krem’s face falls, his curiosity replaced by annoyance.

“Chief. I didn’t need to know that.”

“You asked!”

“It’s the Inquisitor we are talking about!”

“Everyone knows about it, apparently.” Solas snaps, his good mood quickly turning sour and bitter and _grumpy_. He slams another card on the table and a moment of silence passes, before Blackwall curses under his breath and tosses his cards away.

“Goodbye, my lovelies.” Dorian sniffles, waving with his fingers at the sovereigns Solas solemnly drags across the table one by one. Varric follows them with an admired look, but also deep resignation.

“Damn it!” he exclaims, scratching his neck. “Chuckles, are you sure you don’t play since years?”

“Talent, knowledge, and experience aren’t worn out by time.” he replies, a small smile returning to his lips. “However, Scarlet and I do play some rounds of Wicked Grace every once in a while.”

“ _Strip_ Wicked Grace?” Bull asks wiggling his eyebrows and Solas’ smile broadens, just a little, but it does and he refuses to answer, reaching out for another pastry instead.

The table erupts into cheers and clapping and despite everything, Solas chuckles too and accepts Bull elbowing him and Varric’s witty comments.

“Have you chosen the names of your future children?” Blackwall jokes and Dorian informs him that they indeed have.

“Why did she tell _you_ , but not me too?” Bull whines, his only eye showing disappointment and betrayal. Krem snickers as Dorian proudly responds: “Because I am her best friend, of course.”

Then he narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “Also, you would have tried to convince her to call them like dragons.”

“… True.”

Solas discreetly tries to change topic again, since this one is particularly delicate now as well.

He remembers the house map he drew and his heart swells with emotion.

So he quickly tosses another card on the table and watches Varric’s smile turns into wide-eyed bewilderment, then confusion, then grim acceptance. The others follow suit and push the pile of money forward Solas with various grumbles, curses, and shocked whispers.

“Messer Solas, half of my salary is in there!”

“Are you using magic, Chuckles? That’s against the rules, you know that, right?”

“Years spent playing with Felix and these are the results. Great.”

“Who cares if people are gonna see us naked? Please, let’s just bet our clothes this time.”

“We don’t want to scare Cabot’s customers, Blackwall.”

They laugh again and Solas joins them, accepting a sip of the ale Varric ordered. It’s good and it warms his throat and belly and he relaxes, his worries receding in the back of his mind.

A third round starts, but they are interrupted by a loud, shrieking voice coming from the second floor.

“Shut up, weirdy! Nobody asked you!”

It’s clear who Sera is talking to, but his timid answer cannot be heard over Maryden’s voice and those of the various patrons.

Sera goes down the stairs with an angry scowl and closed fists; her bow and quiver are on her back, sign that she is ready to shoot at the clouds in the sky or at apples launched in the air.

She freezes when she sees Solas and he stays still as well, not knowing whether to trust her or not.

Scarlet told him she spoke with her and made her promise she won’t say anything about their argument in the rotunda, but he knows how the blonde elf is: fickle and mischievous, her respect for him basically null.

A moment passes, in which they stare at each other like two animals trying to understand what the other wants to do. Then she opens her mouth and swears.

“Fucking shit! What are you doin’ here?!”

Solas lets out a sigh and looks back at his cards, raising an eyebrow and replying in a cold tone: “The tavern is open to everyone.”

“Yeah, but you don’t like it!”

“I do sometimes.” He waits for Krem and Blackwall to put down their cards, then does the same. “No salty cookies today?”

He is not looking at her, but he can almost _hear_ her frown.

“Excuse you?”

Solas bristles and turns to her with a glare, his face livid; he is barely aware of Varric’s ‘uh-oh’, Dorian’s rapturous attention, and the others’ confusion.

Confusion that he sees in Sera’s eyes too, but he is too angry and offended to think about it.

“You know what I am talking about.” he continues, raising his chin high. “The cookies you left on my desk, accompanied by that _lovely_ message.”

Sera cackles, her crudely cut hair falling away from her face as she tilts her head back to laugh.

“Oh yeah, that drawing was pretty good, wasn’t it?” Then she frowns again, remembering the main issue at hand. “What problems do you have with my cookies, old man?”

He snarls, exasperated and frustrated, and decides to glare at his cards instead; there is no point in discussing this with someone who pretends to be oblivious and innocent.

“Nevermind.” he says coldly, dismissing her. “It is clear you are unable to apologize in a decent, mature manner.”

“What did I do now?” she shouts, stomping her foot. “Seriously, what’s your problem? The cookies were fine!”

An angry blush tints his cheeks and Solas narrows his eyes at her. Before leaving them in the garden for Loranil, he took a small bite himself to ensure they were salty enough and found that Scarlet was right: they tasted awful and Loranil’s reaction did not disappoint him.

He dislikes being made fun of, so his tone is bitter and wry when he says: “They were saltier than the Waking Sea, Sera. Hardly a good way to apologize.”

Her eyes get so big that the sight would be a funny one, if they weren’t arguing. She shakes her head and frowns again, this time with more confusion and less rage.

“They… they weren’t! I didn’t do that this time! I put sugar in them!”

She looks so dumbfounded and mortified that Solas can’t help but doubt the certainty of what he believes and feel a pang of guilt.

“I’m sure…” she mumbles, staring at the distance with an empty look. “They looked good.”

“You… don’t taste the stuff you prepare? You know, to make sure it’s edible?” Bull asks gently.

Varric and Blackwall look terrified for a moment, probably because they ate something made by her in the past, and two red dots appear on Sera’s face.

“Well… no! Not always, anyway! I was in a hurry this time, alright?” She huffs and folds her arms, glaring at the chair where Krem usually sits, ignoring the men sitting at the table.

“They looked good, so I didn’t waste time tasting them. I’m _sure_ I used sugar, though!”

“Maybe you were so angry you didn’t notice. I remember you were cursing a lot.” Blackwall chuckles and she scoffs, before turning to Solas with a mortified face.

“So they sucked, yeah? Salty like sea water?”

He softens and even gives her a patient, small smile.

“Yes.” he confirms, but before she can storm out of the tavern and swear for the next few hours, he hurries to add: “But if you truly did not do that on purpose, then I appreciate and accept your apologies. And I... I am sorry for hitting you with that book.”

Sera grunts, still bothered, so he assumes it’s his turn to offer a sign of peace. Even though it hurts him to do so, he takes the last pastry and tears it in half, offering one part to her.

“There. Peace?”

She eyes the pastry with suspicion, looking back and forth from it to him until Solas shakes it and shoots her a pointed look.

She snatches it out of his hand and throws it into her mouth, munching loudly.

“Peace!” she accepts, before grinning, teeth covered in dough and sugar. “But you are still an old, dusty egg!”

She smacks the back of his head and runs out, cackling triumphantly as he curses in Elvhen.

“Well…” Blackwall says after a few, long seconds. “That didn’t go so bad.”

“It was moderately civil.” Solas agrees, then sighs - a relieved sound - and smiles, putting the remaining half of the Free Marcher pastry in his mouth.

“Alright, we have a round to finish. But I suggest shuffling our cards again, since you all looked at mine while I was discussing with Sera.”

A chorus of protests resonates at their table and Solas’ serene smile turns into a smug grin.

 

\- - - -

 

The chevalier has been lured away by a professional and accommodating Josephine and the War Room is once again available to the Inquisitor and her friends to deal with Inquisition matters alone.

Leliana and Cullen went away too, each busy with their own jobs: the Commander has to train some new recruits and make sure all the equipment works fine, the Spymaster has many missives and orders to send in preparation for their attack against Corypheus’ forces.

Scarlet and Cassandra are alone in the room, studying the map and making a list of stuff to send to the quartermaster.

“We should request more light wagons to carry our less heavy armaments.” Cassandra says, tapping her quill against the table, her frown expressing deep concentration. “They should not slow us down too much. What do you think, Inquisitor?”

Silence follows, so Cassandra’s frown shows confusion now and she raises her head.

“Inquisitor…?”

Scarlet jumps, startled, and stares at her with wide eyes: her pencil is still pressed on the piece of paper she has been scribbling onto for the last few minutes and Cassandra cranes her neck to read it.

“Food and ingredients?” she says, her eyebrows now rising. “We can’t bring those with us!”

“They are not related to that.” Scarlet sheepishly explains, offering Cassandra a hopeful smile when she folds her arms and her frown returns.

“Inquisitor, you have not been paying attention in the slightest, have you?”

“I have! Look, I wrote down everything we might need!” She indeed shows her another piece of paper where a more useful list has been made, but Cassandra still looks unconvinced.

“It’s just that…” Scarlet sighs, looking at the windows where warm sunlight is entering from, but doesn’t continue and quickly slips the list of ingredients under the one with the requisitions.

Cassandra sits down quietly and a small, but warm laughter escapes her.

“A bit tired?” she asks and there is understanding in her voice. Scarlet sighs again and nods; she timidly retrieves the list of food again and says softly: “If this truly is the final battle, the last fight against Corypheus, then we need to be prepared as best as we can. But…”

“But you also want to spend as much time as possible with those you love and do the things you like before it’s too late.” Cassandra sighs too and nods. “I understand, Inquisitor.”

Then her tone changes completely and she laments with a grumble: “I haven’t been able to read the last chapter of _Swords and Shields_ yet.”

“Me neither.” Scarlet laughs. “It’s still on my desk, buried under piles of letters to read and documents to sign.”

Cassandra laughs too, then a curious light shines in her eyes and she asks, almost timidly: “May I ask what that list is about?”

Scarlet gives her a toothy smile and her cheeks get red; she shows the age she really has and her next words don’t hide the excitement she feels: “I wanted to prepare a special lunch for Solas! A tasty dish my mother always made when mood in the clan was low or we felt tired.”

The Seeker’s face lightens up and she gasps, getting up and clasping her hands. It’s like someone has just told her Varric is going to write smutty books for the next ten years.

There are stars in her eyes and her face is red too, approval and admiration written all over it; she is nearly _trembling_ with anticipation and joy.

“Like in the first chapter of _Swords and Shields_!” she whispers, as if saying it out loud is too much for her poor heart. “The Guard Captain’s husband prepares a lovely dinner for her!”

Scarlet bounces on her feet and nods frenetically.

“Yes! And later they spend the night in each other’s arms, watching the stars!”

“And they talk about simple things, like the roof that needs to be repaired…”

“… the flowers growing well in their garden…”

“The table in the kitchen they want to replace!”

“Their future children!”

Both women sigh wistfully with a dreamy look on their flushed faces.

Then Scarlet starts softly: “These past weeks have been a bit rough for Solas.”

She doesn’t give too many details, but she is saying the truth at the same time. It is true the last days have been full of worry, for both of them, and her brow creases with sadness as she remembers Solas’ face after his argument with Sera and his mortification in their tent in the Emerald Graves.

“We tried to relax whenever we could.” she continues, playing with a folded corner of the piece of paper. “I even asked Josephine for some days of break. We spent more time reading, exploring the Fade, he even taught me some parts of his special meditation!”

She turns at Cassandra with a huge smile and the Seeker smiles back with a nod. Then Scarlet looks behind her, at where the windows are, and her smile and gaze soften.

“I wanted to do something special for him. A romantic lunch sounded like something good for the nerves, something that could help him relax.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Scarlet blinks and focuses back on Cassandra; the human is now glaring at her, hands on her hips. She looks like a scolding, older sister.

“Go to the kitchens and start! Lunch time will be over soon if you don’t hurry!”

“But the list-”

Cassandra scoffs and rolls her eyes, waving off those words like they mean nothing.

“The list can wait. And if Cullen starts to complain, then I will take care of it.” She calms down a little and adds a bit sheepishly: “Of course I will need you to read it to make sure nothing is amiss first, but…”

She lightens up again and Scarlet hides her smile behind a hand. “But I won’t bother you until tomorrow, I swear!”

Scarlet hesitates for a second, looking down at the requests they wrote, thinking about the ones they still have to think about, then her eyes move up to Cassandra again. The human curses and gently, but firmly pushes her out of the room, even snatching the list of requisitions out of her hands and letting her keep only the one with the ingredients.

“Go now!” she says, pointing at the door leading to Josephine’s office. “I am sure the kitchen staff will let you work without problems.”

“Thank you, Cassandra.” Scarlet beams at her and squeezes her hand, knowing a hug would embarrass the Seeker. That squeeze is still an affectionate gesture, though, and it makes Cassandra’s lips curl into a big smile.

“Good luck, Inquisitor!” she shouts as Scarlet runs away, heading to the kitchens before lunch time really passes. The young elf turns before opening the door and says:

“I will tell you how it goes later!”

Cassandra almost squeals in delight.

 

\- - - -

 

His small leather purse is full to the brim with coins once he leaves the tavern.

The others try to convince him to stay for lunch - probably to start new rounds, hoping to win their money back -, but Solas’ schedule is precise and despite the novelty of this day, he still has every intention of following it.

He and Scarlet usually eat together, either in the high tower, far from curious eyes, or in the hall when guests need to be entertained and listened to. Hopefully that nosy chevalier is gone now and she can spend some time with him.

He feels like a whiny, young boy who can’t stay away from his beloved girl. He is not _young_ , not anymore, but he has the distinct impression he becomes very _whiny_ and petulant when he isn’t able to see Scarlet for too long.

He remembers one particular event, now almost one year old, in which he twisted his ankle during one hard fight against Venatori soldiers in the Forbidden Oasis.

Scarlet and the others - Bull and Cole - carried him back to the near Inquisition camp, but he definitely couldn’t stay there and his foot - despite his healing magic and their soothing salves - needed serious medical help.

Thankfully, they had completed their most important tasks there - they still needed to find many more of those fascinating shards to unlock the doors of the Temple, so there was no reason to remain there any longer, “especially when your foot looks so bad, _vhenan_!”.

He smiles as he thinks about the trip back to the fortress, filled with Bull’s loud voice singing through the night, with the pilgrims and refugees they met along the way and welcomed on their wagon, the Inquisition soldiers helped by Cole’s gentle whispers in their ears.

He remembers Scarlet snoring lightly next to him, her open mouth drooling on the coat of his armor, her red hair sprawled all over her pillow, her calloused, dainty fingers nestled into his. He remembers her warm skin on his lips when he kissed her forehead and her scent when she cuddled further into his arms.

Then, two days after their return to Skyhold, she had to leave again and he couldn’t follow her, his foot still too weak and achy to move well.

“Where… where are you going?” he remembers he asked with wide eyes and a dry mouth, his hand reaching forward to grasp hers before she could get too far from him. He was lying in her - _their_ \- bed; he had just woken up and saw her putting on her medium armor.

“To Emprise du Lion.” she explained with a warm smile, which then turned into a worried frown as she continued: “It seems there are some minor problems with that bridge we repaired and with some remaining Red Templars.”

He gulped, fingers twitching. He thought about freezing the door shut and making her stay there with him, safe.

He is sure he whined. A tiny, nearly inaudible sound, but he did whine and sank further into the pillows and blankets on the bed.

“You will need a mage.” he said, not that she didn’t know that before. He meant that more like a ‘ _you need a mage and I am the only capable one here who can decently help you and make sure a solid barrier is always cast around you’_.

Scarlet didn’t catch that not-so-subtle hidden meaning - or perhaps she did, but decided to discreetly ignore it. She smiled at him and kissed him before gently freeing her hand to finish buckle her armor.

“Dorian is coming.” she replied and Solas scoffed at that, his mood darkening, his worry growing, his longing for her already starting to grow.

“Bring elfroot. And Red Embrium. There are clean gauzes in my pack, take those too.” he said and she sat beside him, took his hand again, and kissed him a second time.

“I will be fine, Solas.” she told him, cupping his cheek, and he nodded, showed even a smile.

“I know.” He raised his eyebrows too, his smile bigger. “You are a formidable woman.”

He remembers her kisses, her warm lips pressed all over his face, then her hug and sweet words of reassurance.

Then he remembers he pouted and snapped at people for two long weeks and half, his mood so dark even his own agents preferred to stay far from him, avoiding any kind of contact.

Cole had gone with Scarlet and for that Solas was grateful: he knew the spirit boy was going to keep an eye on her, expecting her to jump into the heart of the battle despite not being as sturdy and hard to knock out as Blackwall or Cassandra.

Still, that meant nobody could approach him - or dared to. He spent his days in the rotunda or in his own room, refusing to sleep in the high tower without Scarlet, and glaring and responding with curt, impatient answers to whoever had enough courage to address him.

He counted the days with painful precision, focusing on his studies like a madman and eating so little and begrudgingly the kitchen staff thought he was feeling sick.

He looked for her in the Fade and always managed to find her, although the quality of those meetings was not as good as the one of those in the waking world. Also, he couldn’t be sure she was alright, since the Fade could hide a person’s true conditions, masking them under layers of cleanliness, perfect health, memories, and magic.

She assured him that she was fine, that she didn’t get hurt, but he knew her, he knew she didn’t want him to worry, especially when they were so far from each other and he couldn’t help her.

Was she alright? Was she hurt? Did the cold, awful weather of Emprise du Lion affect her?

So he asked Cole if she really was well and the spirit hesitated for a second, before answering timidly: “A Red Templar’s sword slashed her back, but Dorian healed the wound and the pain is gone now.”

Solas became insufferable after that.

He is perfectly aware, even now, of the way he reacted when Scarlet’s return was announced through the fortress: he sprang up from his chair and went to the main gate with quick, wide strides, ignoring the servants’ amused smiles, Varric’s witty comment, and Vivienne’s smirk.

He is also aware of the way he waited in the courtyard, observing the small, familiar figures crossing the long bridge: he squinted his eyes, looking for any hint that could tell him whether Scarlet was hurt or not.

He made a mental note to prepare a hot bath for her and request warm food from the kitchens, as well as retrieve those beautiful books he had found in the vault library.

He remembers he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, an usual pose for him when he was around strangers or people he was not familiar with. That had changed during the months, though, and so did he, that pose now not used as much as before.

Still, he stood like that to show the soldiers, merchants, and guests that he wasn’t some kind of impatient lad, no matter how many times he had looked out of the windows to search for Scarlet’s figure in the snowy horizon.

Still, when she came close enough that her features were visible, he melted and took two steps closer, opening wide his arms as she jumped into his embrace.

“Solas!” she exclaimed, kissing him so eagerly that he was left breathless. She beamed at him, then realized where they were, heard the people’s gasps and giggles, and cleared her throat, face red.

“I missed you.” she whispered, smiling sheepishly at him. She gasped when she noticed the dirty snow she had left on his sweater and tried to step away, mortified.

“Sorry! Here, let me…”

He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again, cradling her wind-chilled face in his hands and warming it with magic; he even opened her mouth for a second, swallowing her small moan, and ignored Dorian’s whistle and the surprised ‘ _ooooh_ ’ murmured around them.

Then he broke the kiss and admired her flushed cheeks, unruly hair, half-open eyes and smiled.

“I missed you too, _vhenan_.” he said softly, resting his forehead against hers.

They went into the stronghold hand in hand, accompanied by a smiling Cole who punctually revealed to Scarlet all the sulking Solas had done while they were away.

Almost one year has passed since that event and things haven’t changed that much. Albeit he pretends it’s not the case in front of other people, Solas does still mope whenever too much time passes from one meeting with Scarlet to another.

He passes by the rotunda to see if she is there and glances at the wolves he painted on the wall in front of his desk. He grunts, a weird similarity coming to mind.

He might be represented as a wolf, but he is not that similar to them, behavior-wise… right?

Shaking those thoughts out of his head, he goes back to the throne room, the wooden box of pastries safe in his hands. He bought some from Cabot, knowing Scarlet will appreciate the peculiar taste typical of the region she and her clan used to wander into.

It will be a sweet gift, a sort of prologue for Satinalia. With the money he won today, he should be able to buy the precious threads and cloths she spotted in the market of Val Royeaux, as well as some decent colors - he almost finished the ones she bought for him months ago - to paint something good for her.

A sad, treacherous part of his mind points out how carefree he is, as if nothing bad lies at the end of this journey, as if he won’t have to deal with the truth once Corypheus is defeated.

He acts like he has all the time in the world, like he truly is a hobo apostate of no importance, an innocent, if not odd, man who will give her children and a nice house in the forest.

He swallows, cursing at himself and begging his subconscious to come up with a good idea, a way to tell her everything before he goes mad and his body completely crumbles.

He looks for her in the hall, but she is not waiting for him near one of the long tables. Is she still busy in the War Room or some other part of Skyhold? Should he send her a message?

An agent of Leliana approaches him and Solas instinctively tenses up, wondering if he is one of those who witnessed his argument with Sera.

He sees no amusement nor malice in the human’s eyes, though, and relief flows through him as the other says: “Messer Solas, the Inquisitor is waiting for you in her rooms.”

He thanks the man, without missing his smile as he hurries to meet his _vhenan_.

 

\- - - -

 

The smell that welcomes him as soon as he opens the door of their room is unfamiliar, but lovely.

It’s something that reminds him of a hearty meal and his stomach grumbles after he inhales deeply a second time.

“Solas?” Scarlet calls and Solas quickly reaches the top of the stairs, his eyes widening.

She moved the table in front of the fireplace and put a colored cloth on it, one she sewed herself to use as a tablecloth whenever they eat in their quarters.

Two full plates are waiting for them: he isn’t sure _what_ they are full of, exactly, but it looks tasty and appetizing.

As he gets near the table, he is able to smell something else too: the delicate scent of perfumed herbs Scarlet used to fuel the fire and fill the room with a good, refreshing smell.

He chuckles and sees her wring her hands, smiling sheepishly at him.

He notices other little details too: she put new pillows on the bed, tidied up her desk so that only the books they are currently reading are there, spread one of the quilts she made on the couch, took two chairs to the balcony where they shared their second kiss.

He realizes this is a special occasion, a special meal she made expressly for him, and he is suddenly self-conscious of his attire.

His old, torn sweater - which Scarlet sewed back in piece countless times before - isn’t exactly the most romantic and charming sight in Thedas. He should have worn one of the others she made for him, but he is constantly afraid of ruining them or worse.

“This looks lovely.” he says with a warm smile and she beams at him, before remembering they haven’t kissed yet. She quickly goes to him to press a loud kiss on his mouth.

“I prepared a typical Dalish dish!” she says, then notices the wooden box he is holding and gives him a playful smile. “What is this?”

“A gift.” he explains, chuckling and kissing her forehead. “One that will conclude our meal in a sweet way.”

He lifts the lid and shows her the content of the box: she gasps and timidly brushes her fingertips against the edge of it.

“I remember these! Sometimes Keeper Deshanna allowed us to trade some of our herbs for them with the human merchants we met!”

“So you like them?” Solas asks, suddenly worrying that she might not. Fortunately, she grins and gives him another loud peck. She is excited, happy memories of her past life flashing in her eyes.

Solas sighs relieved and holds her close for a moment. She smells like spices and wood.

She tells him she prepared everything. She asked the kitchen staff for permission to work there, promising she wouldn’t have bothered anyone, and Solas finds endearing how she, the _Inquisitor_ , thought of asking for permission to servants and cooks.

They already made a majority of the dishes and food that needed to be served in the great hall, so there wasn’t much activity and she was able to work well, without hindering anybody’s work or slowing the kitchens down. She even showed the cook how the Dalish Deep Forest Comfort was made.

Solas sits down at the table and smiles: she put some petals on it, apparently with a specific pattern and order in mind, and chose the most colored cutlery and glasses the Inquisition can offer.

It’s a colorful, cheerful, and warm sight, one that reminds him of lazy summer days.

The dish she prepared looks equally good: he recognizes squash, mushrooms, and elfroot, and the taste is delicate, but inebriating and refreshing all the same.

Scarlet sits on the edge of her seat, eagerly waiting for his reaction and opinion. He smiles at her and nods, mouth still full, and she bounces happily, her red hair falling gently around her delicate face and shoulders.

Some red locks are sticking out and he notices small stains on her clothes; he laughs, touched, and moves a hand in front of his mouth.

Her smile gets bigger as she explains: “It’s actually a really simple recipe, but we Dalish have to be lucky enough to find a good stash and hope it won’t get spoiled! The original recipe requires a special larva which is very _squishy_ and…”

Solas stops eating, fork a few inches from his open mouth, wide blue-gray eyes staring at her.

“… Larva?”

She giggles and raises her own fork, showing him two red and round _things_.

“I used tomatoes instead. I doubt I can find that beetle here in Skyhold and that you would be willing to eat it.”

She laughs openly at his shocked expression, then yelps when his feet touches hers, bare, under the table.

“Who knows.” he says with a smug smile, caressing her calves. “Perhaps I might like it.”

“Maybe.” she agrees, locking one of his legs between hers, smiling patiently and calmly at her plate. “Dalish cuisine tends to be somewhat sweet and delicate.”

“Perfect.” He licks the tasty juice from the fork. “Just how I like it.”

Her foot slightly rises until it rests on his thigh. He imitates her pose and they keep eating like that, gently pressing their heel into each other’s leg.

Sometimes she rubs her foot on his pants, sometimes he does or presses his sole flat against her knee until she playfully swats it with her free hand.

“Delicious.” he says in the end, once they have emptied their plates twice. It truly was a great meal, a rich taste made even richer by the fact that she prepared it for him.

He watches her blush and smile happily and takes her into his arms, lips pressed against her temple, inhaling her scent and committing to memory every detail, from the way the light hits her hair to the wrinkles of her shirt.

They move to the balcony: Scarlet sits on his lap, the box of pastries resting open on hers, and they eat those too, talking about simple, domestic stuff, like the wall of the corridor leading to the War Room that needs to be repaired, the flowers and plants growing in the garden, the desk in the rotunda.

He tells her he played Wicked Grace with the others at the tavern and her eyes get so large he can’t help but chuckle.

“Really?!” she exclaims, sitting up so fast she almost falls off his lap. “You accepted Varric’s invitation? Oh, _vhenan_ , that’s wonderful!”

“I did.” He shows her his pouch full of coins and her eyes widen even more as he grins. “It was a quite successful time.”

He munches slowly another piece of pastry before adding: “Also Sera did not salt those cookies on purpose. She was sure she used sugar.”

When he raises his eyes again, she sees Scarlet giving him a pointed and amused look that means ‘I told you!’. He chuckles and kisses her head, saying serenely: “You were right, _ma sa’lath_.”

She lightly swats his thigh in response and he nuzzles her neck.

They observe the landscape, the high peaks of the Frostback Mountains covered by sunlight and snow; the wind is blowing gently, not warm, but not excessively cold either, and the far cries of the birds reach their ears.

She wraps her arms around his neck and he feels she is not watching the mountains or the hills anymore. She is watching _him_ and a deep blush tints his cheeks and ears; he turns to her with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

“Yes?”

She is blushing too and her face is serious, focused entirely on him. She looks straight into him, her golden gaze seems to reach his very soul and he brings his face closer to hers, heart beating fast and hard.

“You are beautiful.” she says softly and he feels like crying.

She touches his cheeks, caresses his eyebrows and brow, traces his lips with her fingertips and touches his cleft chin. He realizes she wants to memorize every detail just like he did before.

He also realizes she is scared too, that she fears they don’t have much time left, that the upcoming battle in the Arbor Wilds will be fatal.

“ _Ma vhenan_.” he says, choked up, a heavy lump in his throat. He strokes her face, cups her cheek, kisses her eyes. “Everything will be alright.”

She nods, smiling, and keeps touching his face, brushing her mouth against his jaw, nose, even ears, until she reaches his mouth and gives him a sweet, deep kiss.

His arms tightens around her: so many things could go wrong, he could lose her in so many ways and every single one of them terrifies him. But if this battle ends with their victory, if Corypheus is successfully defeated, then he will have to retrieve the Orb and that would mean…

He hides his face into her neck, breathing her scent and letting her hair tickle his face. She is real, _real_ and true, and her voice, touch, and presence are a reminder of how beautiful this Veiled world can be.

And he feels no guilt when he thinks that, there is no bitterness in his love, no regret: he has the full certainty that this is right, that this love is the only right thing he has ever done and had in his life.

He cries quietly against her skin and when he feels her lips pressed on his bald head, he raises it and looks at her, cradling her face in his calloused hands.

There on the sunlit balcony, surrounded by the golden and rosy light of the mountains, he sees in her the only elven glory he needs and his heart swells with love.

He finds the answer he seeks in her eyes and he knows.

Once the battle in the Arbor Wilds is won, he will take her somewhere, a secluded place where they can speak in peace. He will risk everything and let her decide; he will show her the truth - he could take her to his old sanctuary in the valley, let her visit the Vir Dirthara… - and hope for the best, hope for her understanding, hope for her safety, believe in his own power to protect her.

He will even hope for another solution, a better way. If one can find it, it’s her.

A tight knot unravels inside him and it’s like he can breathe normally again after spending an eternity with a string tied around his neck.

He smiles at her and she leans into his touch, resting her right hand upon his.

“My heart.” he whispers. “Come. Let me make love to you.”

Scarlet blinks, surprised, and gasps as he carries her bridal style back to their room.

“Solas!” she exclaims when he gently lays her down on the bed. “What about…”

He interrupts her with a kiss, which becomes heated, wet, and sloppy, so much they both moan and her hands dig into his sweater, clinging to him.

“I am fine now.” he grins and slowly starts to unbutton her shirt. She is wearing a white breastband today, flowers and animals embroidered on it.

He rests down beside her and starts sucking her nipples through the fabric, smiling as she whines and grasps his shoulders, bucking into his lips.

“Are you sure?” she asks, breathing heavily. “Solas, _ma vhenan_ , you don’t have to do this if-”

“I am sure.” he reassures her, peppering her collarbone with small, quick kisses that tickle her and make her giggle. His grin broadens. “Now let us take these clothes off.”

It’s almost exhilarating to know his body won’t betray him this time. He can feel it, he _knows_ he will be able to make her feel good just like weeks ago.

He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t worry about it anymore and focuses on her only, on her tight embrace and sweet voice giggling in his ear as he nibbles the soft flesh of her neck.

“Forgive me, _emma lath_.” he says, propping himself over her and caressing her face. “I neglected you.”

“No, you didn’t, you silly.” she replies, smiling sweetly and stroking his cheek. “You have been incredibly thoughtful, as always.”

“As you have been.” He then slowly slips two fingers inside her and watches her squirm and open her mouth in an almost silent gasp. He smiles, his gaze kind and intense at the same time.

“I remember you wanted to try a new position.”

Scarlet’s face becomes even redder and she bites her lower lip, smiling in return as he chuckles, a deep sound she can feel reverberate through his chest, and leans down.

“Will that be alright?” she asks, then laughs, the sound becoming a moan, when he licks her neck and thrusts his fingers faster into her at the same time.

She retaliates by squeezing his erection and rubbing her thumb on its head. Solas lets out a loud whimper, bucking into her touch for more blissful friction.

“More than alright.” he pants and then she pulls him on top of herself fully, wrapping her legs around his waist and trapping him into a strong hug.

A pause, then Solas makes a tiny, surprised sound.

“ _Vhenan_.” he says gently, voice muffled. “I believe you should roll over your stomach.”

“Can we…” she stops, then sighs, and gently lifts his head to look at him. Her blush has deepened and she looks a bit embarrassed.

“Can we do it like this?” she shyly asks. “It’s the first time we do it since some days and these past weeks have been rough and I want to see your face…”

“ _Vhenan_ …”

“I mean, doing it from behind sounds great too, but this position is more romantic!” She takes a deep breath and Solas tries to speak, but she starts again, looking at the freckles on his shoulders with her cheeks on fire:

“I want to see your face when you… you know… And see your blush and that cute expression you make every time I touch your ears! Also kiss you!” She looks at him again and finds him smiling tenderly.

“It will be easier to kiss you like this.” she concludes softly and he chuckles, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Definitely.” he whispers. “You are right, my love. This is the best position.”

It truly is, because when he slips his manhood into her - without coming instantly - and sees bliss bloom on her flushed face, when she covers every inch of his face with her lips and whispers endearments in his ear, when he pronounces sweet elven words of love and sees her understand what they mean and giggle, he is sure this is sheer perfection.

Nothing else compares.

He gently moves within her, helps her meet his thrusts, and laughs with her until that arousal that was bottled up inside him finally finds an outlet and pours out.

He comes hard, filling her with his semen and filling the room with a loud moan that turns into a happy sob in the end. And she comes hard too, her strong limbs wrapped around him, her tiny whimpers muffled by his mouth as he keeps teasing her clitoris and helps her ride her climax.

It feels glorious, heavenly, perfect.

He stays inside her for a little while; they share slow kisses, then he slips out with a hiss and drops at her side. She cuddles against his chest and he runs a hand through her hair, kissing her forehead and humming when her fingers trace his neck and shoulder.

“Are you alright, _ma sa’lath_?” she asks worriedly and he grins, one of his hands moving down to cup her ass. She gasps when he squeezes it.

“I think I will be ready for the second round soon, _vhenan_.”

“Don’t strain yourself.” she smiles, poking his chest. “Solas Jr. needs rest.”

“… Please don’t call it like that.”

She giggles and he laughs again. There is light in his heart, he can feel it shine and burn pleasantly, and his mind and soul are at peace, filled by hope.

He will carry it in the Arbor Wilds, letting it aid them in battle, and then he will bring it to the trip he is already planning in his mind.

He thinks about the house map he drew, the rooms and names he wrote down, and holds Scarlet tighter.

He feels good, joyful, because his heart tells him that sketch will become reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND IT'S DONE. WHY CAN'T I WRITE SHORT CHAPTERS. 
> 
> Also [Sometrashland](http://sometrashland.tumblr.com/) drew the [final scene](http://lafaiette.tumblr.com/post/143535509610/sometrashland-drew-this-gorgeous-scene-of-my-fic)! ( ´ ▽ ` )
> 
> I am awkward as hell with smut, but I hope this fic contained enough good juicy bits ;_; At least Solas' dick works again, although we all know what happens in that clearing at Crestwood. SOLAS, LET LAVELLAN HELP YOU, FOR FUCK'S SAKE. ;_;
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kind comments and kudos, this fic has been such a nice and pleasant ride! ; v ; I will go back to "Hearth Cakes" and "Joy and Humility" now, even though I already have new ideas in mind. 
> 
> Also the Dalish Deep Forest Comfort is a real recipe from World of Thedas 2! You can find it [here](http://blog.bioware.com/2015/11/23/a-very-thedosian-thanksgiving/).

**Author's Note:**

> Look at the [beautiful comic](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/post/139938096093/elven-glory-1-4-nsfw) that [trashwarden](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/) made for the first scene! ( ´ ▽ ` )


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